


Of Wild Things

by DarkCommet



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Action & Romance, Amren is protective, Because Azriel deserves love, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Feels, Female Friendship, Feyre ships it, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Male-Female Friendship, Morrigan ships it, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, So is Cassian, True Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkCommet/pseuds/DarkCommet
Summary: "There is a place where the stars are not afraid to explode to fill empty, endless skies. Where the moon and sun exist together, side by side, at the same time. Where the meteors find home in a constellation. And that is where, you will find me."—  Lukas W. // Come and find me





	1. Chapter 1

Tanaruz does not remember how she came to be in this land, this world, but she is fully aware that it is not her own. This is not her forest, this is not her mountain, this is not her snow, nor is this her sky. This place belongs to a stranger. And this place hates her, does not trust her. It would rather see her dead. Just like everything else around her.

The sky above her head is ashen, the trees barren, the ground beneath her cold and wet and hard. 

She has never truly felt cold before. It is not something she enjoys. Not even her furs and her heavy clothes do anything against the biting chill that is beginning to seep into her bones. 

Is this what mortals feel? Is this why they shiver when they enter her forest? Is this why their lips turn blue and their skin goes dry? Tanaruz has never been unkind. Her winters are harsh but she does not commonly force her mortals to endure the harsher of her storms. She would not make them endure this. Has never made them endure this.

Wind bites at her cheeks and her eyes, snow flying up to rest on her face. 

Tanaruz tries to reach out with her powers, tries to harness that biting wind and cutting wind, but she cannot touch that well of power. It's like it never existed in the first place. 

Panic bubbles in the young goddesses chest. 

"Areus!" Tanaruz calls out, desperately hoping that her sweet brother will hear her and come.

He does not. 

The only thing that meets her is the distant thunder of wind sifting through snow covered branches. 

Somewhere to her left Tanaruz can hear an animal ripping bark off of a tree. It is unaware of her presence or unconcerned by her being there. Perhaps it knows that Tanaruz will not harm it. Maybe it knows she is like him. A wild thing. 

Tanaruz takes comfort in it's presence. 

Until something crunches in the snow.

The deer, for surely it must be, disappears with barely a sound. The only signs of its presence there being the tracks it leaves behind, already being covered with fresh snow.  

Now, Tanaruz has spent enough time in the wild places to know when a hunter is near. 

So she considers her options. 

Calling out for help would make the hunter aware of her presence, this could be a good thing... Or it could be a very, very bad thing. But Tanaruz does not have the option of keeping silent. Because she knows what happens to mortals that end up lost in the forest during the winter months. Whether or not she's mortal now doesn't matter. Tanaruz is weak and she's injured and she needs help. 

But before she can call out for the hunter something warm brushes her face. 

"Hello? Can you hear me?" 

Tanaruz forces her gaze away from the sky and the trees and to the girl crouched beside her. 

Blue-grey eyes and chapped lips greet her. 

"Are you going to kill me?" Tanaruz demands, fingers yearning for the knife still strapped to her thigh. 

She'll kill this hunter is she has to. Damn the consequences. Tanaruz will not be _slaughtered_ by a mortal. 

"Are you fae?" The girl asks, tone cool. 

"No." 

It's not a lie. 

Tanaruz is not fae. 

She is something much more dangerous.

A fallen goddess lost in a world that is not her own. 

The hunter purses her lips before reaching out to pull Tanaruz's hair away from the ear closest to the her. Whatever she sees must satisfy the hunter because she nods once and moves to help Tanaruz to her feet. 

"The trip to the village will take us an hour. Will you be able to make it?" 

"Perhaps." Tanaruz thinks she should be able too. Her legs aren't broken. It's just her head that's bothering her. 

"Very well then." 

And then the hunter is pulling Tanaruz's arm over her head, resting it across her thin shoulders. 

Tanaruz notes just how tiny this woman is and cringes. She has never let one of hers starve. Ever. If they come seeking food and hide for their survival then Tanaruz provides it, and even when the hunting is more for sport then anything Tanaruz has always made sure there was some form of game. Rabbits or deer for them to hunt. This girl looks like she has been out in this terrible cold for hours. 

What God would leave a forest barren? What God would allow a child to hunt for hours with nothing to show for her efforts. 

Her forests had always been full of life. 

This forest... This forest might as well be dead. 

"I am Tanaruz." 

A pause, and then, "Feyre." 

"Feyre... You have my thanks, Feyre." 

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get you to the village." 

Tanaruz can't help the bitter laughter that slips past her lips. 

 

* * *

 

The Archeron sisters, Tanaruz decides are not like her own sisters. 

Nesta is bitter. Beautiful, yes, but bitter and harsh. 

Elain is softer, kinder, a gentle thing that almost takes Tanaruz aback. 

Isella and Myra are similar to Feyre's sisters, in their own ways... But Isella has no qualms with showing her affections where Nesta is too guarded with her own and Myra lacks the naivety Elain carries despite her gentle soul. 

Tanaruz misses her sisters greatly.

"We'll need to remove your... Everything, really." Elain says, fingers already moving to pull off the furs that are perhaps the only things that kept Tanaruz alive until Feyre found her. 

Elain is gentle the pelts, fox and wolf and sable, gifts from others and pelts Tanaruz has hunted for herself when she sought out meats and bones. But just because the delicate human is careful with Tanaruz's pelts does not mean the young goddess trusts her with them. Not when she sees the way Nesta is eyeing the fine pelts. Like she wants to take them and wear them for herself. 

And then her weapons are being stripped from her body. Her bow and her arrows and her knives. Taken carefully but set out of reach. This time it is Feyre that eyes the objects. Interest and fascination burning in her gaze in place of the want that burns in Nesta's. 

Tanaruz would not mind teaching Feyre what she knows. 

"Oh my... We may have to call for the doctor." Elain gasps as she prods at the wounds Tanaruz is only just now beginning to feel. 

Her shirt, once a pristine white, is covered in red. 

Not gold. 

Not the ichor of her people. 

Panic does not come this time. Only a gentle numbness and a passing feeling of rage that is pushed aside by the steely determination of the goddess's resolve. She will find whoever did this to her, she will find them and she will kill them. But... But she'll have to find a way to break whatever this curse is before she can do anything like that. 

"And pay him with what money? We've got nothing to give." Nesta snarls, eyes flashing with her hate. But it is not directed at Tanaruz... It is more directed at the insipid, broken man whittling away at a block of wood next to the window. 

Their father. 

This broken man is their father. 

And he cannot bring himself to care if they live and die in this pathetic excuse of a hovel. He doesn't have the will to care. 

But Tanaruz does. 

Tanaruz can help these women who have taken her into their home despite their suspicion and their distrust. 

"We can't leave her to die like this!" Feyre hisses back. 

"Why not? Who is she to us?" Nesta demands. 

"Enough! Both of you." Elain's voice rips through the feuding sisters like a blade, "Feyre brought her here, Nesta, she needs our help." 

Nesta sighs heavily before muttering something about bad omens. 

She slips into another part of the house and Tanaruz wonders if that is the end of this particular squabble. 

Elain is careful to warm her. Going slowly as to not send the injured woman into shock. One blanket and a log on the fire. Another blanket, another long. Once the blankets are gone Elaine begins to drape pelts over Tanaruz until shaking abides a bit and color seeps back into Tanaruz's face. 

Then Elain is rolling her so that she can get to the wound that has begun to clot. 

It's not fatal. If it were Tanaruz would be long dead. But it does hurt. And she cries out when Elaine goes to stitch the wound as best she can. 

"What happened?" Feyre asks. 

"I-I do not know." Tanaruz bites out, eyes squeezing shut against the pain of Elaine's needle. 

"Could it have been the fae?" Elain's voice is timid. 

Feyre shakes her head. "Perhaps, there were no footprints around. It was not a mortal who harmed her." 

Tanaruz wants to reprimand Feyre for her anger. 

But it is not her place. 

And she drifts off to the sting of Elain's needle and the soothing balm of Feyre's fingers in her hair. 

 

* * *

 

There is a body beside her. 

Three actually. 

All overly thin, all womanly, all familiar. 

The Archeron sisters. 

Tanaruz pries one eye open. 

Feyre is pressed against her front, burrowing for the warmth offered by the fire and the pelts and Tanaruz's own body. Behind her Elain clings to her back, face pressed into her hair, and behind Elain there is Nesta, arm wrapped around Elaine's shoulders. 

"We were cold."

"I did not take offense." 

"Who are you?" 

Tanaruz turns her head to stare at Nesta. 

The oldest sister has not so much as opened an eye. 

"I am Tanaruz." 

"Did you come from beyond the wall?" 

_The wall?_

"No. I am not from these lands... The wall is unfamiliar to me." 

This seems to satisfy Nesta, for the most part, because she nods her head against Elaine's shoulder. 

The two of them do not speak again. 

 

* * *

 

It takes more time for Tanaruz to heal than she likes. 

Weeks laying beside a fire with nothing but Elain's gentle voice and her father's whittling to keep her company has grown boring. Sometimes Nesta keeps her company and Feyre is a constant companion during the night hours. But Elain is Tanaruz's primary source of company. 

Elain talks about her garden. She hopes to buy more flowers to plant. Tanaruz thinks she and Isella would have gotten along fairly well. Isella would have had so much to teach Elain.

Tanaruz clenches her jaw. 

She will not think of them. 

Not now. 

Not when she has no way to get home. 

"Your wound is healing well. No signs of infection as far as I can tell." Elain comments as she finishes wrapping the wound. 

"Thank you, Elain." 

The younger girl smiles sweetly, gathers the soiled bandages off of the floor, and moves to dispose of them. 

Tanaruz watches the young woman for a long moment before moving to pull a pelt over her lap. She allowed Feyre to take the others that morning when she left for the forest north of the small village where the Archeron sisters live. The wind has not let up since and Tanaruz feel the chill despite the fire burning away behind her. She's glad she gave those pelts to Feyre. 

At least they will keep her alive while she hunts. 

"Have you family to return to?" Elain inquires, startling Tanaruz out of her thoughts. 

"... No. I have no one." 

"Oh, that's quite unfortunate... Well, the village is nice enough i suppose. You could perhaps find a small cottage to live in." Elain remarks. 

Tanaruz smiles before uttering a polite, "Perhaps." 

Elain rubs her palms on her skirt before lowering herself to sit beside Tanaruz. 

Without much thought the younger girl reaches out to toy with the long, auburn tresses that end at her waist. Tanaruz allows the mortal woman to braid her hair and twist it out of her face. 

Myra used to do this as well. 

They'd sit for hours in clearings and meadows with Isella and Areus. Myra at her back, weaving wild flowers into her hair while Areus played war with Isella. Tanaruz misses those moments. So she allows Elaine to drag her fingers through those long auburn strands. It feels nice, comforting even, and Tanaruz revels in the familiarity of it. 

"Although, you might have to watch out for the Children of the Blessed." 

"Children of the Blessed?" 

"Idiots, the lot of them, better off dead." 

"Good morning, Nesta." Elaine greets. 

Nest moves to sit beside Elaine, offering a string for the young girl to tie off Tanaruz's hair with. 

In the several weeks that Tanaruz has been confined to her space next to the fire she has come to consider all of the Archeron sisters as her friends. Or something very close to it. Feyre is her favorite sister, but Nesta and Elain hold their own special places in her hearts. Nesta especially. The eldest Archeron sister reminds Tanaruz of the wild things of the world. 

Tanaruz thinks Nesta might consider her a friend as well. Especially when Nesta offers though soft smiles and greets her in the morning. 

So she offers the cruel eyed sister a smile that is returned with the barest up-tilt of plump lips. 

 

* * *

 

Feyre returns much later, blood covered and cold. Looking like a wild creature herself with the pelts Tanaruz lent her. 

There's a deer tossed over her shoulder, it shouldn't be possible for Feyre to carry it, but she manages well enough. 

She doesn't complain when Tanaruz lifts the dead animal off of her shoulders. 

"Go inside, warm up, I'll handle this." 

Feyre gives her a look, probably wondering if Tanaruz is up to the task of skinning the deer, but she doesn't argue. And Tanaruz watches as Feyre slips into the warmth offered by the hovel. 

Once the door slides shut Tanaruz moves to secure the deer to the place where Feyre has obviously been skinning her kills. 

The weight of her knife is familiar, more so then the act of skinning the animal in front of her. 

Her father taught her how to hunt, hot to skin her kills and dry the meats. 

Skinning this animal is a mindless task, quick and efficient. 

Within minutes the animal is skinned, the meat cut into strips and slabs, and the hide cleaned so that it may be dried. 

Tanaruz drags the meat and the hide inside, ignoring Elain's horrified wail of, "It's dripping!", and moving to where Feyre is standing in the kitchen area. 

"It is a good kill. You and your family will have enough food for several days." Tanaruz says as she places the meat on the table. 

Feyre takes the pelt. 

"And you, should you wish to stay." Feyre remarks dully. 

"Is that an invitation?" 

Feyre shrugs, "If something were to happen to me at least there would be someone who could keep them from starving." 

Elain and Nesta. 

Their names aren't said but Tanaruz understands. 

Somewhere, no matter how deeply buried, something is telling Feyre that the woman she pulled out of the snow is no mere hunter. She is dangerous. Mortal, yes, but dangerous none the less. 

Tanaruz smiles, more a show of teeth then anything else, and places her hand on Feyre's shoulder. 

"Perhaps I shall stay a while longer." 

Freyre's smile is surprisingly gentle. 

"I'm glad." She says. 

And Tanaruz actually believes her. 


	2. Chapter 2

Feyre and Tanaruz take turns hunting. A mutual agreement in which one of the two woman will don the hides Tanaruz had been wearing when Feyre had found her and head out into the forest beyond the cottage. Rotating the days so that one is not hunting more then the other. 

Today it's Tanaruz's turn to trek out into the wild. 

"Do you have everything?" Feyre demands as she hands Tanaruz her bow and quiver. 

"Yes, yes," Tanaruz laughs, readjusting her hides so that she can sling her quiver over her back, "everything will be fine." 

Feyre nods grimly before offering a tight smile, "Alright. Be careful." 

Tanaruz nods once, places her hand on Feyre's shoulder, then she's gone. Wondering out into the snow. More tankful for her pelts now more then ever. Because it's cold, exceptionally cold, colder then Tanaruz has ever experienced. 

But then... She is a God... Was a God. 

Once. 

And while she knows that winter equates to freezing temperatures it does not mean she's ever actually experienced it herself. 

So she pulls her hood over her head and moves the scarf Elaine has allowed her to borrow over her mouth and nose. Her fingers, despite the two sets of gloves she's been lent, are trembling slightly. Tanaruz almost wonders if she'll be able to hunt properly. The thought makes her grimace. 

No. 

 _No_. 

Tanaruz's a fine hunter, she will not be hindered by this. She will not allow herself to be hindered by this. 

What is a little cold? Tanaruz has her hides and several layers of warm clothing- all lent by Feyre as she's the only one whose clothes come close to fitting on Tanaruz. The only problem might be finding game to hunt. 

She's noticed that the forest near the village is surprisingly empty. 

Which might have something to do with The Wall. 

The Wall... Tanaruz has learned of it from the Archeron sister. The Wall and the Fae beyond it. The hatred the humans have for the fae makes Tanaruz glad she has not told Feyre of her Godly status. Feyre would probably kill her if she knew. 

Maybe. 

They're something like friends now, so perhaps not. 

Either way, Tanaruz hopes she doesn't run into any of the nastier things that live beyond the wall. 

Not while she's stuck in mortal flesh anyway. 

 

* * *

 

Tanaruz decides that she does not like the Wall within her first hour in the forest. 

Game stays far from the magical barrier, prey unwilling to be caught by a predator far more capable of killing them than any hunter, and the snow isn't helping either. The weather has likely urged many of the animals who dared to reside in the forest to seek shelter further south. But there are some that have lingered. Tanaruz almost feels sorry for them. 

Not enough to keep from hunting them, however. 

Normally Tanaruz wouldn't care, but she's got four mouths to help feed and that's not including her own. 

So no, she doesn't have the luxury of pitying these animals.

Something moves in the trees to her left. 

Large and coal colored. 

Tanaruz pauses for a moment, eyes flicking to where the beast hides, but it is gone. 

Nothing more then a few prints in the snow and an unnerving feeling of being watched.

Without further hesitation Tanaruz makes her way deeper into the forest. 

* * *

 

Andras watches the mortal girl as she makes her way deeper and deeper into the forest, closer to The Wall though she appears displeased to be doing so. 

There is not much of her to see beneath the hides she wears. Cauldron, she looks more like a wild thing herself then a mortal girl. Especially as she creeps through the snow, silent and slow like a predator. 

He studies her a moment longer. 

The bow held in her hands is her own, specially made for her and of high quality, just like the hides on her body. 

This mortal woman is a hunter. 

 _Good_ , Andras thinks, something almost like fear pooling in his belly. 

A hunter will make his death quick enough... Or perhaps not. There is nothing in her quiver that could truly kill him if he did not wish to die. Which means that if this woman, this silly mortal child, wanted to kill him then she would have to take the blade strapped to her thigh and run him through several times over. 

But it is a needed sacrifice. 

A worthy sacrifice. 

To destroy Amarantha and release Tamlin from the curse Andras would die a thousand times over. 

But still... 

He fears it. 

Death is so terribly final, and for an immortal such as he... Well, death is not something he would have seen himself welcoming with open arms. 

Something beneath his foot snaps. Whether it was a conscious movement or not makes no difference because the mortal has heard him. And Andras watches as the woman pivots sharply, draws back her bowstring, and aims for his eye. 

They stare at each other for several long moments, Andras wonders if she intends to shoot him. He won't stop her if he does. But she doesn't loose her arrow, doesn't move to harm him. She just lowers her bow, reaches up, and pushes back her hood. 

Pretty. 

For a mortal. 

Auburn hair similar in color to Lucien's, pert nose, square jaw, full lips. Pretty, yes. But Andras thinks it is her eyes that makes her so. 

Grey like the sky above their head. 

"I was expecting... More, I suppose." 

The woman's voice startles Andras. 

So much so that he growls once before darting off into the trees. 

 

* * *

 

Tanaruz watches the wolf leave with a small frown. 

She's not upset by his departure. It's his appearance that has caused her confusion. 

Months ago Tanaruz would not have been disturbed by it. Wild things often flocked to her, children seeking out their mother, followed her through her forests and across her mountain. But now? Now Tanaruz wonders if there is still an aspect of herself that has not yet faded. Perhaps the wolf had known, on whatever instinctual level. But even if that were true how had he known? 

Because he wasn't born a wolf. 

He is Fae. 

Surely, he must have been. 

So how had he known? Did he know? Maybe he wasn't aware... But that wouldn't explain why he just stood there and waited for her to kill him. 

She's not fool enough to think he was doing anything else. 

Predators do not stand quietly to let mice kill them. 

And that's what Tanaruz is in comparison to him. 

With a sigh she pulls her hood back up and continues her way into the forest. 

 

* * *

 

Two deer. 

She manages to kill two deer. 

They are not well fed and will only last the Archeron family a week and a half at most. But it's something. The meat can be dried or cooked and used for something like a stew, the hide can be sold or used to make something for one of the sisters. 

Probably Nesta. 

The oldest Archeron sister has grown fond of wearing Tanaruz's furs into the village. Especially the vibrantly colored fox pelts. Tanaruz thinks it might have something to do with the man Nesta is trying to attract. 

Either way, the kills will be useful. 

"You know," Tanaruz says as she crouches next to one of her kill so that she can bind its feet together, "I don't bite." 

A low growl makes her smile. 

"Though, I suspect you do." 

The creature hiding in the trees does not move closer, but it does not flee either. It just sits there, hidden in the trees and snow. 

Tanaruz hums as she tosses one of the kills over her shoulder, unaffected by this single weight, but when she moves to grab the second kill Tanaruz staggers under the weight of both kills. And she swears. 

Curse this mortal body and it's limitations. 

A questioning whine makes Tanaruz glance to her left where the wolf is staring at her from behind the trees. 

She offers a bitter smile before shuffling off toward the village.

 

* * *

 

Gone, the strange woman is leaving. 

Andras is oddly torn. 

He needs to return, it's getting late and it's unlikely a human will be wondering the forest. He should return to Tamlin and Lucien. 

Returning is the best option. 

It really is. 

And yet... Andras doesn't want to leave this girl. In fact, he wants to follow her. Like some sort of lost puppy. And he hates this feeling. Because he doesn't know this girl, she's a nameless face that offered him curious glances and a self deprecating smile. Which is another thing that has the High Fae curious about the mortal woman. 

He followed her through the forest, unable to tear himself away, and he'd watched. 

The girl had climbed trees and moved through the snow like she'd done it a thousand times before, and when she'd killed those deer... She'd done it quickly. One arrow loosed and another in it's place almost as soon as the first had flown. 

 _Too fast_ , Andras thinks as he forces himself away from the woman, _too fast_. 

Tamlin needs to know. 

His High Lord needs to know about the mortal girl that might not be quit so mortal. 

So Andras forces the urge to follow the woman back toward the human village in favor of returning to The Wall. 

Every step is a kind of torture. Every step brings with it an instinctual urge to return to the girl and place himself at her flank, directly to her left, so that she might place her hand on his head and card her fingers through his fur and tell him that he is a good beta. A good second. The thought makes something burn pleasantly in his chest... But it's not him thinking that. 

It's the beast. 

That think lurking in the back of his mind. 

It's there whenever Tamlin uses his magic to change Andras from High Fae to wolf. Andras isn't sure what it is. Instincts or something else entirely? He isn't sure, what he is sure about is that the beast has never been quite so complacent as when he found the girl in forest. 

Andras runs faster. 

He needs to tell Tamlin about the maybe-not-mortal woman. 

And he needs to tell him now. 

 

* * *

 

"What did you and Tamlin talk about?" 

Andras looks away from the pattern he's tracing into the soft flesh of Lucien's lower back. 

Lucien is staring at him. His russet eye narrowed and his golden one likely searching for something Andras might have hidden with magic. 

Something tightens in Andras' gut. 

It's the reason he demanded Tamlin to let him go into the forest instead of Lucien. 

"Does it matter?" He questions in reply, looking away from that eye and those scars because it makes him so fucking sick to think of what Amarantha did to Lucien. 

The embers in the fireplace, the ones that had been casting such a soft glow about Lucien's room, erupt into a roaring blaze. Searching for wood to devour and, when finding nothing, eating from Lucien's magic instead. 

Sometimes Andras wonders what it's like to have that kind of gift. 

All Andras can do is grow things. 

Not terribly exotic in the Spring Court. 

"Yes, it does." 

"Why?" 

"You know _why_ Andras." 

It's more of a hiss then anything else and Lucien flinches as soon as those words leave his mouth. 

Andras reaches out to brush auburn hair out of his lover's face. 

"I met a girl in the forest today." Andras breathes after a long moment, "It was strange." 

Lucien's tone is clipped when he says, "Well... She didn't kill you. I dare say it was." 

"No, no that's not what I'm saying." Andras mutters, racking a hand through his hair to push the dark tresses back as he sits up, "I... I waited for it. She could have killed me and I was waiting for it. But she didn't. She just stood there and told me she was expecting more. Like she knew I was fae and didn't care." 

"A Child of the Blessed then." 

"I don't think she knew anything about the fae, Lucien. Cauldron! I don't think she was even a mortal." 

This time Lucien frowns. "What do you mean by that?" He demands. 

Andras takes a very deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out and explains, "I couldn't walk away, Lucien. I wanted to. I knew I had to. But she walked into those trees and _it_ followed her." 

" _It_? You're sure?" 

It. That beast that lingers in Andras' head whenever he takes that other form. 

They've spoken of _it_ multiple times. 

"Yes, yes... I followed her for hours, waited while she hunted, drove deer toward her when it became apparent that she was becoming frustrated. I did that but it wasn't me doing it." 

"... Could it have been? Maybe you're confu-"

"I wanted to follow her to the village. I wanted to be part of her pack, I wanted to run with her, and I wanted to tear at that mortal flesh of hers because I knew, _I knew_ , it wasn't hers, and I wanted _her_." 

"What are you talking about, Andras?" Lucien practically barks. 

And it's enough to force the dark haired fae out of the bed. 

Lucien is watching him but Andras can't bring himself to care about the fact that he's naked and pacing like a madman. 

He runs a hand through his hair, huffs, pulls his hand away, paces a few more times, and repeats the action again and again and again until Andras manages to get his thoughts in order. 

"That's the point! I don't know what I'm talking about! As soon as Tamlin changed me back it was over. I didn't want to go running back for that woman! I didn't even know why I wanted to follow her so badly!" He's practically screaming now, frustration and fear lacing his tone. 

If he meets that girl again, oh Cauldron, it could all be over. 

Andras might not be able to stop himself from following her. 

He might forget himself and his task. 

Which would doom them all. 

It would doom Tamlin and  _Lucien_. 

Hands on his shoulders has Andras looking up to meet his lover's gaze. "What are you talking about Andras? You need to tell me. _Now_." 

Andras shakes his head. "I can't Lucien becuase I don't understand it myself." 

"But you told Tamlin, yes?"

"I told him what I could." 

Lucien nods slowly, oh so slowly, and drops his hands. 

Andras wants to drag Lucien back to bed, wants to bury himself inside the auburn haired High Fae, wants to forget the girl and _It_ and _its_ obsession with said girl. But he can't. Because Lucien is now aware of what happened and Andras knows Lucien too well. 

He'll obsess over this for hours, even if he does decide to bed Andras, and in the morning he will ask Tamlin to allow him to go beyond the wall instead of Andras. 

Which can't happen. 

It just can't. 

So Andras reaches out and takes Lucien's face between calloused hands and pleads, "Forget about it. I doubt I'll see her again and if I do I know what to expect. It won't happen again." 

Lucien look unconvinced. 

 _Please_ , Andras begs, _Lucien please_. 

A sigh. 

"Very well... But I will be discussing this with Tamlin." Lucien growls.

"I didn't expect you not too." Andras intones dryly. 

And Lucien will never know just how relieved he is. 

Probably a good thing. 

It's not like Andras is going to be around much longer. 

The less Lucien has to mourn the better. 


	3. Chapter 3

"I'd rather like to get some roses this spring. If we have enough money. I think the garden would be just lovely with roses." Elain chirps as she leads Feyre into town. 

The older girl nods slowly, fingers flexing beside the hilt of her hunting knife. 

She doesn't like this village... Actually, she doesn't like the people. They're liars and disloyal and more then once Tanaruz has caught glimpse of a hand shaped bruise encircling the wrist one more then one woman despite the desperate attempts to hide them with the hems of sleeves. Tanaruz doesn't doubt that if the occasion arose some of these men, or women, would jump at the chance to harm Elain or Nesta or Feyre. 

But mostly Nesta and Elain. 

They don't know how to protect themselves the way Fayre and Tanaruz do. 

Which is why the young goddess follows them into the village whenever Feyre can't. 

"I think that would be lovely, Elain." Tanaruz remarks distantly, eyes flickering from here to there and back again. 

"And perhaps prim rose," Elain murmurs as she gently pulls at an auburn braid, "I think they'd look quite lovely in your hair." 

Tanaruz offers the younger girl a kind smile before turning her attention back to the bustling street. 

Nesta is speaking with a young man a few years older then herself. Tanaruz doesn't like the look of him. Oh, he's certainly attractive with all that dark hair and those eyes of his, but there's something about that smile of his that makes her uncomfortable. Nesta needs to get away from him. Now. 

"Nesta, it's going to storm tonight we really should be going before anything hits." Tanaruz tries to be polite as she interrupts their conversation. 

"Oh, hello." Nesta's companion greets kindly. 

Too kindly. 

He reminds Tanaruz of the flowers her aunt was so fond of. Vibrant and pretty and filled with lethal poison. And every one of the young Goddess's instinct's tell her to take Nesta and Elain and run. 

Tanaruz offers a grin that's more teeth and malice then anything else. 

"Tanaruz this is Tomas Mandry." Nesta's voice is chilly as she introduces the two. 

"Tanaruz, do you have a family name?" Tomas inquires. 

"Not one that I am aware of." Is her only reply before she loops her arm through Nesta's and gently leads the younger woman away. "A good day to you, sir!" 

Nesta seethes as Tanaruz leads her through the village. 

Neither of them speak as Tanaruz bargains with the men and women sitting beside their little carts, which is perfectly fine with Tanaruz. Let Nesta be angry with her. It doesn't bother Tanaruz any. It's not like Nesta hasn't been angry with her before. 

So the three of them make their way through the village and Tanaruz gets as much of what they need as she can without overpaying. 

Elain pretends there's nothing bothering the other two women. She fills the silence with talk about her garden and which girl in the village will be married by summer. It's strange to Tanaruz, her interest in all of this. What does it matter is this girl married that boy instead of this boy? Doesn't make any sense to Tanaruz. 

But if it makes Elain happy... 

Tanaruz casts Nesta a glance and sighs. 

She's going to have to find a way to fix this. 

Hopefully soon. 

 

* * *

 

"I hate it here." Tanaruz says one evening, staring at the fire roaring in the hearth. 

"Everyone hates it here." Feyre whispers back. 

"I know but... I feel like I'm trapped here." Tanaruz admits as she rolls over to face her friend. "Like I if I leave I'll die." 

She doesn't like this feeling. 

"What was your home like?" Feyre asks after a long moment. 

It's the first time she's ever asked and Tanaruz swallows heavily. 

In the time she's lived with this little family no one has actually asked about her home. Nesta has demanded and Elain has made her own assumptions but... No one has asked. And Feyre's soft spoken inquiry makes something in the young Goddess swell. 

"I grew away from my siblings, on a great mountain covered in trees and capped with snow. It was always beautiful there. The clans living on the mountain would celebrate the solstices with great fires and wooden masks and there would be such music... I loved attending those celebrations." 

Not just because they were dedicated to her and her family, but because there was always such great joy in the eyes of the mortals. 

If Tanaruz closes her eyes she can almost reach out and touch those precious memories. 

"That sounds lovely." Feyre whispers into the dark. 

"The first time I ever attended one of these celebrations was with my father. I'd been young then, too young to truly understand what was being celebrated, but my father carved me a mask of blackthorn and my mother fashioned me a crown of holly and mistletoe. I wore then proudly that night." 

And every night since. 

Donning the Bear mask and her mother's wreaths every time the great fires were lit. 

"I've never been to such a celebration." Feyre's voice is muffled by her tiredness. 

Tanaruz smiles, a sad little thing that no one will see in the dark, and promises the younger girl something she might not be able to accomplish. 

"One day, Feyre Archeron, I will take you to the mountain of my birth and you will see the great fires and join in the festivities. This I swear to you." 

There is no familiar tug as the words are spoken. No golden thread binding her to this promise. And it breaks something inside of Tanaruz. 

"Oh? Will you craft me a mask as well?" 

"And a crown of Holly and Snow Heath, I think." 

Feyre hums, "Will we dance?" 

"If you wish it." Tanaruz laughs, "There are many who would wish to dance with you." 

 _Because you are strong and brave and loyal_. 

Things valued above all in the clans living on Tanaruz's mountain. 

"And what of you? What will you do?" 

Tanaruz is silent for a long moment. 

Typically she would weave her magic. Bless the mortals worshiping her and her family. Give them a tolerable winter and offer them plenty of meat when the need for it forced them from their homes. She would guard them, guide them, teach them the ways of the hunt, and she would treat them as a mother might treat her children. 

She would treat them as any kind God treats their worshipers. 

And the sound of Feyre's gentle snoring shakes Tanaruz from her thoughts. 

Grey eyes drift to the face of the sleeping girl and the goddess smiles as she reaches out to brush the pad of her thumb over Feyre's cheek. 

"I would bless you, Feyre Archeron." Tanaruz utters it live a prayer. " You and your gentle dreamer's heart... For your kindness and the friendship you have offered me." 

But Feyre does not hear these whispered words. 

Tanaruz never expected her too. 

 

* * *

 

Days pass. 

And in that time the meat runs out and the wood stored for the fire grows low. 

The storm that has covered the small village in snow will soon force Feyre into the forest to hunt. 

But not Tanaruz, for her now mortal body has taken ill. Her nose is red and runny, her throat sore, her body shakes with the force of her fever, and Tanaruz hates it. She's never been sick before. Gods don't catch ill. And she swears that once she gets home again the first thing she'll do is convince her mother to heal more of the mortals that flock to her temples. 

Because this?

This is fucking terrible. 

And yet she attempts to don her pelts and hides anyway. 

It earns her reprimands from all of the Archeron siblings. 

Feyre has forbidden her from hunting until she gets well again. And to emphesize her point the younger girl takes the pelts and hides from Tanaruz and puts them on herself before taking the older woman's bow and giving it to Elain. 

"Hide this." She hisses before stepping out into the blistering cold. 

Once she's gone Nesta lowers herself to sit beside Tanaruz, a cloth and a bowl of water beside her. 

"Honestly," She sighs, "you act as if you've never caught a cold before." 

 _Because I haven't,_ Tanaruz wants to spit. But her throat hurts to much and her world keeps blurring at odd moments. 

Gods don't get sick. This is completely unfamiliar to Tanaruz. Oh, she's seen plenty of sick mortals and she's helped to heal them. But in this body? In this body Tanaruz is weak and vulnerable. 

She hates it. 

But Nesta's fingers are gentle in her hair and the wet cloth the mortal girl is dabbing against her flesh chases away the heat of her fever. 

"I have not been sick in... A very long time." Tanaruz manages to breathe despite the pain in her lungs. 

Nesta merely hums as she continues to dab at Tanaruz's heated flesh. 

And Tanaruz drifts off into fitful slumber. 

 

* * *

 

Hours pass. 

At some point Nesta disappears to chop fire wood and Elain scrounges up enough left over herbs to make something of a remedy for the fever Tanaruz is suffering. It helps, for a bit. Long enough for Tanaruz to eat a few scraps of meat and drink a few sips of water. 

Feyre has yet to return from her hunt and that is making everyone nervous. 

Nesta the most. 

The eldest sister keeps glancing at the door, like she's expecting Feyre to step in at any moment with a kill slung over her shoulder. The worry etched upon her face tells Tanaruz that Nesta doesn't keep checking for Feyre because she's hungry. A factor, certainly, but not the entire reason. 

It warms something in Tanaruz's chest. 

"She'll be fine." Tanaruz says, voice hoarse. 

"Go back to sleep." Nesta snaps, but her eyes are soft and her tone weak. 

Tanaruz sniffles, cursing this mortal body she's stuck in, and does as she's told. 

 

* * *

 

The wolf pelt Feyre returns with is familiar. 

Something in the young goddess recoils. 

Because Feyre knew, just as Tanaruz knew, that the dark furred wolf was fae and she... And Feyre fucking skinned it. 

There's likely a reason, Feyre isn't stupid enough to do anything without thinking it through... Right? _Right_? So there's got to be a reason. But in Tanaruz's fever ridden mind she can't come up with one that makes any sense. 

All she can think is that the wolf was fae, not human, and Feyre killed him. Killed him and skinned him and... Will she do that to Tanaruz if she ever finds out that Tanaruz isn't _human_? 

Panic bubbles in the young woman's chest. 

 _No_ , she tries to reason as she watches Feyre move to hang the pelt to dry, _Feyre wouldn't kill a friend_.

 _But your friendship is based off a lie is it not?_ The voice sounds like her brother's, Areus whose voice is always so king and gentle. _What would stop her from killing a lie?_

Feyre, as if hearing her thoughts, turns to smile at Tanaruz. And it takes everything in the young woman's weakened state not to reach for the hunting knife laying mere feet away. The only reason she doesn't is because Feyre is her friend and friends don't try and kill other friends. No matter the reasoning. 

So she offers a weak smile in return before rolling to face the fire. 

Tanaruz tries not to think about the wolf that used to follow her through the trees as she hunted. Tries not to remember how he'd force deer in her direction. Tries and fails to forget about the way he'd pressed his ears flat against the back of his head and whined when Tanaruz had left him that last time in the forest. 

 

* * *

 

When Feyre goes to the market to sell the pelt of her kill Tanaruz opts to stay home. 

She cannot be apart of that. 

And it's not so much the exchange of the pelt for other goods, because it's not. Tanaruz has sold many pelts in exchange for the things she wants. But Tanaruz can't be part of this. Because something in the back of her mind is screaming that this entire situation is going to end very, very badly and there's nothing Tanaruz can do to stop it. She can just sit and wait and watch as her little world implodes around her. 

So Tanaruz tells the sisters that she's still not feeling all that well and insists that they have fun. 

None of them argue and the three sisters leave with heart felt goodbyes and Elain's sweet promise to buy something for her if she finds anything. 

Tanaruz tells her not to bother. 

Then they're gone and Tanaruz is left with the father. 

She hasn't spoken to the Archeron Patriarch much. Passing greetings and polite inquiries but not much else. But he's sitting in his little chair, whittling away at a small block of wood. He looks terribly sad, lonely even. 

So Tanaruz pushes herself to her feet, swallows thickly, and makes her way to where the older looking man sits in his chair. 

"It is beautiful." She whispers, motioning to the horse he has managed to cut out of the wood. 

He offers a distant smile. "Thank you, it will not bring much." 

 _They never do._  

It lingers in the air between them and Tanaruz wishes she could say something to ease his mind. But there is nothing to say. So Tanaruz opts for a gentle smile. 

"My father would have enjoyed these carvings." 

This is a lie. Her father would have found the Archeron man weak and foolish and incapable of doing his job as head of this family. Her father would have burned his little carvings to ash before killing this man as well. 

For her father, despite his love for his family, has very littler tolerance for weakness. 

But this lie will not hurt this man. 

"What was your family like?" 

"Big... Loud... My siblings and I argued quite a bit." 

"Your siblings? What were they like?" 

Tanaruz licks her lip before saying, "Areus was the eldest of us, my mother called him her Lord of Starlight. Then there was Isella and Myra.. Our aunt used to say that they were like the sun and moon, different but where one goes the other follows... And then there is me." 

"And what did your family say about you?" 

This makes Tanaruz choke on her breath, the reminder of her family a bit too much. She hasn't really spoken of them before. And to have revealed so much of them to this stranger? It makes her chest hurt. 

"My brother called me a wild thing." 

 _You're more of a bear then a girl, you dear Wild Thing,_ her brother used to say. 

Tanaruz never corrected him for it. And Areus would ruffle her hair before pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. 

Out of all her siblings, she and Areus had been the closest. 

The Lord of Starlight and the Wild Daughter. 

They'd made an unlikely pair but no one had questioned it. Areus had taught her to navigate using the stars and in return Tanaruz had gifted her brother with a pelt of fine white fur that she had taken from a bear when her father had taken her to the far North. 

Tanaruz wonders if Areus is worried about her. 

Wonders if he's looking for her. 

Knowing him... He hasn't stopped. 

"What happened to them?" 

And the truth comes easily. 

"They were lost to me." 

The man nods slowly, knife stilling, and Tanaruz moves away when a shiver races down her spine. 

Later, after she wakes from the slumber that claimed her after she'd settled near the fire, she finds the horse carving resting by her head. 

 

* * *

 

"You've barely eaten." Elain chides, glancing at the scraps of meat still left on the older girl's plate. 

Tanaruz offers an apologetic grin that doesn't reach her eyes and says, "I'm not feeling well." 

Beside her Feyre reaches out to press a hand to Tanaruz's forehead, hissing slightly when she meats heat and sweat. The fever has not broken, only weakened, and Tanaruz is pushing herself a bit too hard. 

But a weak body will be her death and Tanaruz refuses to die a mortal death. 

If she's going to die Tanaruz will die the death of a God. Glory riddled and tragic. Something for the mortals to write songs about and whisper to their children as parents tuck them into their beds at night. 

_Be like The Wild One, child, brave and strong and fearless._

It's what she wants them to say if Tanaruz ever dies. 

So a fever will not be her undoing. 

"You need to rest." Feyre sighs as she pulls the left over meat away. She doesn't eat it though, merely throws it into the fire and watches as the possibly contaminated meat turns to charred strips. 

Tanaruz replies with a soft, "I have slept the day away. I am not tired." 

Another lie. One of many that Tanaruz has told her beloved friend.

The guilt is beginning to weight on her. But they do not realize and Tanaruz will not say. So the guilt has no place in her heart, not when Feyre has struck something like fear there. 

And isn't that a pitiful thought.

A God scared of a little mortal woman. 

Tanaruz sighs, drags a hand over her face, and takes comfort in the knife strapped to her thigh. 

At least she won't go down without a fight. 

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, when the wind rattles the windows and the fire doesn't quite chase off the cold, Tanaruz wakes with a start. 

Something is coming. 

It's not so much a fact but it's certainly a gut feeling and Tanaruz has always relied on gut instincts more then anything else. 

So the goddess stands, causing Feyre's fingers to fall away from her hair, and moves toward the door. 

Elain and Nesta are giggling away, their father dozing in a chair, Feyre's eyes are wide but Tanaruz does not offer up an explanation. Just reaches down to brush her fingers against the knife strapped to her leg. 

Moments like this make Tanaruz wonder how mortals survive so long without magic and Godly strength. 

Because something is coming for them. What it is and what it wants Tanaruz isn't sure. But she knows it's coming. And she suspects it has something to do with the pelt Feyre sold in the market just that morning. 

Suddenly there's a roar and screaming and snow stinging Tanaruz's eyes as it whips against her face. 

And a hulking, shadowy figure looming at the entrance. 

 

* * *

 

Everything happens quickly. 

Muscle memory takes over and Tanaruz, despite her weakened state, puts herself between the beast and the family she has come to claim as her own. Her fingers tighten around the hilt of her blade. And she wonders if it glints as dangerously in the firelight as she thinks it could. 

 _I am dangerous_ , she hopes the beast realizes, _and I will not hesitate to sink my blade into your neck_. 

The beast, large as a horse with a feline body with elkish horns protruding from a wolfish head, stares at her. Green eyes narrow dangerously, body tensing, legs getting ready to spring a heavy body forward to knock Tanaruz to the ground. 

This is not a goddess meeting an equal. 

This is a mortal girl, sickly and frail, standing between loved ones and a thing wishing them harm. 

Tanaruz doesn't delusion herself. 

If the beast lunges she will die. 

But that doesn't stop her from baring her teeth and twisting her knife just so. 

" _Murderers_!" The beast roars, voice echoing off the walls around them. 

Behind Tanaruz Feyre steps closer, her father and Nesta trying to appease the beast. But it won't help. It's not here to kill them. Any of them. That much is obvious. If he wanted any of them dead then neither Tanaruz nor Feyre would have been able to stop him. Blood would have been spilled the moment the door was torn from its hinges. 

So what does it want? 

"Get out," Feyre snarls. "Get out and be gone." 

Feyre gets a bellowing roar in response and an enraged, " _Who killed him_?" 

Yes, this is about the wolf. 

Tanaruz fights the urge to lower her knife. 

Some things cannot be negotiated, some things cannot be apologized for... Some things require blood and bone and a body. And should it come to that Tanaruz will do all in her power to make that body his. 

"If you hadn't wanted him dead," Tanaruz whispers, voice strong and fevered, "then you should not have sent him into that forest to die." 

A blink of the eyes is all it takes for the beast to move across the room. 

They're practically nose to nose and Tanaruz knows she should be afraid, but she's not. Behind her Feyre is yelling at her to get back and the others are screaming. But Tanaruz does not bend. Not to this creature that has come to this home to invoke a justice he has no right to want. 

" _Who are you to defy my will?_ " The beast growls, low and full of hate. 

"I am Tanaruz and you have no power over me." 

Sometimes... Sometimes Tanaruz forgets that she's not longer immortal. She forgets that her blood runs red instead of gold. Saying such things to a being that is stronger then her will likely end with her throat being ripped out, but she has more experience at fighting then Feyre or Elain or Nesta. 

Many wars have been fought in her young life. Some mortal, others not. And Tanaruz knows what it means to take a life. 

Fighting and snarling is easier then sitting and waiting for this beast to kill them all. 

But the beast doesn't go for her throat. Instead it just states at her with intent green eyes. Something like longing swimming in those emerald depths. Like he wants something from her that he has no right to have. 

And then there's pain. 

A searing sensation that rips through Tanaruz's head. 

It elicits a grunt from the young goddess. Tears form at the corners of her eyes. Every instinct she has yelling at her to kill the thing that is attempting to kill her. 

So Tanaruz adjusts her grip on her knife, moving the blade so it runs parallel to her forearm, and swings at the creature's throat. 

Blood, warm and red and wet, splashes across Tanaruz's face. It stains the shirt she borrowed from with drops of red and drips down tanned cheeks. But the creature does not drop. Instead it shoots back and roars and before it can swipe at Tanaruz the young woman's vision goes black. 

And she crumples to the floor to the sound of screaming and sobbing and a promise that she will kill the beast lingering at the forefront of her mind. 


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the fever has broken and Tanaruz feels well enough to leave the house the beast has long since fled beyond the wall and Feyre with him. But this isn't the worst of it. The worst of it comes with the fact that none of the remaining Archerons remember what happened. 

Apparently, the beast has deceived their minds. 

He's convinced them that Feyre is merely caring for an aging aunt far from the village where the family resides. 

But things get... Better. Perhaps that's not a good word for it. Because the family is still living in the village and relying on Tanaruz to bring them venison but a weekly allowance begins appearing at the archeron doorstep. Brought by a handsome blue eyed man in a dapper red coat. The money gives room to buy things they need and things they don't. 

Elain is the first to spend the money. 

Using it to by a simple dress of dark grey wool with a black slip made of cotton. 

"In the event that there is someone you wish to impress." 

But Tanaruz has been borrowing clothes from all of the sisters and she suspects they're getting tired of it. Even so, she smiles and allows Elain to usher her into the dress. And the younger girl pulls the laces at the back of the dress tight so that there is no awkwardly gaping fabric around the middle and bust, commenting on how it makes Tanaruz look exotic. 

"It goes so well with your coloring." Elain breathes as she smooths out the neckline. 

The action reminds Tanaruz of something her mother used to do. 

"Thank you, Elain." 

"You are most welcome, Tanaruz." 

And then she's gone. Skipping off to some other part of the house, leaving Tanaruz in the middle of the bedroom they share. 

Without much thought Tanaruz glances at the bed... And bile rises in her throat. 

How can she sit here and take pleasure in this dirty money when Feyre is trapped? When Feyre needs her most? And oh how she wishes she could storm through the wall and hunt the beast as she used to hunt other more dangerous pray. But she can't and it feels like a betrayal to her beloved friend. 

Tanaruz grinds her teeth. 

 _Soon, she promises, i will come for you soon._  

 

* * *

 

A month passes.

And with it news comes to the small family. 

News of the Archeron Patriach's ship being found along with the ship's cargo that sends the family reeling. 

Tanaruz doesn't know much about mortal wealthy, she's never truly had much use of it before recent months, but she knows that to mortals wealth means comfort and survival. It means good food and good clothing and a good home to raise good families. And as the Archeron's have now regained their wealth... Well, they'll be moving out of this little village to a place where the wealthy reside. 

And they will not longer need Tanaruz. 

The thought makes her sad as she has grown so very attached to the sisters. 

But they do not ask her to leave in the days they take to prepare for their journey and Tanaruz cannot bring herself to leave them. Not yet. Not until she knows they're safe in this new home of theirs. After that she'll head for the wall and find a way to retrieve Feyre. 

Then, on the last day the family will be staying in the village, Nesta and Elain appear beside Tanaruz at the table Feyre had so lovingly painted. 

"We'll be leaving soon, are you ready?" Nesta demands. 

"For?" 

"For the journey! Oh, I'm so excited! I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of talking to the decorators for you!" Elain squeals, eyes dancing and bright. 

"...Why... Why would you speak to your father's decorators for me?" The question is hesitant and almost timid. 

Elain giggles and replies with a kindly, "I wanted to surprise you! You've done so much for us and so as a thank you I had your rooms decorated as I think you might like them." 

And that makes Tanaruz's breath catch in her throat. 

They don't want her to leave. 

They are not forcing her away. 

How is she going to get to Feyre" 

"Unless, of course," Elain's voice is small, "you don't want to stay with us..."

"It's not that... I just... I'm surprised is all." She replies quickly. 

Then she's looking between the two sisters and while Elain's eyes shine with her delight, a truly heartwarming sight, Nesta's are narrowed. 

And Tanaruz knows. 

She knows. 

Nesta is just as aware of the true reasons Feyre is gone as Tanaruz is. And she doesn't like it. The idea of her baby sister stuck beyond the wall likely leaving behind a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Something like an agreement passes between the two woman. 

And Tanaruz turns her attention to Elain before the younger girl can notice the tension between the others in the room. 

 

* * *

 

"I'm not taking you to the wall unless you promise to do as I say." Tanaruz hisses days later when Nesta corners her in the courtyard. 

Nesta grinds her teeth together but relents. "Fine." 

"Follow me." Tanaruz commands, motioning for the girl to follow her. 

The trip to Tanaruz's room is silent save for the shuffle and greets of servants as they pass. And once they're safely behind locked doors Tanaruz makes her way to the chest pressed against her wall. She flips open the lid, pushing aside weaponry and pelts and wool clothing, grabbing hold of the wrapped parcel and wooden box hidden at the bottom. 

She turns to Nesta, holding out both. 

Nesta takes the offered gifts with a frown. Then she's opening both to reveal heavy pants and a coat of good quality and a hunting knife made specifically for her. Elain will be getting one as well but Tanaruz doubts the flower grower will appreciate it the way Nesta will. 

"When we go to the wall I can't promise I'll be able to protect you... But I'll teach you the simplest moves and hopefully that will be enough." Tanaruz says in way of explanation. 

Nesta licks her lip, eyes lingering on the curved blade of her weapon. 

"I... Thank you." 

"We'll leave in two weeks. Take the time to gather what you'll need and meet me here after dinner." 

The younger girl nods. 

Tanaruz thinks she's really quite brave. 

For a mortal. 

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later Tanaruz leads Nesta into the forest. 

The wind bites at their cheeks and if it weren't for the pelts and coats they wear Tanaruz doesn't doubt they would be at risk of loosing limbs. But they trudge on, Nesta refusing to turn back despite Tanaruz's warnings. 

"We should come back when the weather is better." Tanaruz insists. 

"I'm not leaving her there." Nesta snarls, eyes flashing. 

Tanaruz nods slowly. Choosing to keep an eye on Nesta instead of fighting her. If things get any nastier she'll haul the younger woman back if she has too. But for now she'll let Nesta make her own choices. 

Honestly... in the time Tanaruz has taken in preparation for this little trip she's come to realize something. 

Feyre is not dead and she's not dead. 

If she were then the Archeron's would be starving in their hovel of a house in that village where no one trusted anyone. 

But that doesn't mean Tanaruz will leave Feyre in that shit hole fae kingdom. And yet... If they are forced to turn back Tanaruz doubts Feyre will die before the weather allows them to travel again. 

However, saying these things to Nesta will result in an argument that neither of them needs right now. Besides, the night before Nesta disappeared for hours. No one could find her. No one knew where she went. Elain had made a passing comment about the village so it had eased their father's worry but... Nesta had returned with hateful eyes and tear stained cheeks and Tanaruz hadn't asked what happened. Nesta hadn't said.

So they tredge on for another three hours or so before they reach the Wall. 

By now the wind has died down but the sun is closer to it's highest point then Tanaruz likes.

And yet they continue on. Searching for a way through the Wall. Tanaruz thinks she might feel something, a gentle thrum against her nerve endings. Like the feeling one gets just before a storm. But nothing comes of it and Tanaruz cannot find a hole in the wall.  

"We must turn back." Tanaruz urges gently, hands guiding Nesta up off the ground where she's crumpled to her knees. 

Nesta offers a curt nod before turning away. 

But her lip trembles and Tanaruz wonders if Nesta will ever forgive herself for this. 

 

* * *

 

That night Nesta crawls into bed with Tanaruz, slim arms wrapping around the goddess's middle, face pressing into freshly washed hair. 

"I went to speak with Tomas Mandray, asked him if he would accompany us... He refused." 

Without saying a word Tanaruz rolls over so that she can wrap her arms around the younger mortal, holding her tight and rubbing tender circles into her back, not saying a thing about the telltale wetness seeping into her nightshirt. 

Nesta rarely cries. 

And Tanaruz is not about to shame Nesta for this. Not when she herself has spent many nights biting back tears that she does not wish to shed in front of others. No, she will not do that to Nesta. So she just hums softly and smiles kindly. 

"Say the word and I'll kill him." 

Nesta's laughter is thick with her tears and as the younger girl falls apart in Tanaruz's arms that night the young goddess allows a few tears of her own to dampen her cheeks as well.

 

* * *

 

"Oh! You look absolutely gorgeous!" Elain cries as she moves around Tanaruz. 

The gown the younger girl forced her into isn't something Tanaruz would have chosen to wear on her own. The fabric is stiff, it lacks the fluidity that Tanaruz prefers in dresses and skirts. But it's pretty enough she supposes. 

"She looks like a tomato. Give her something else." Nesta snaps from where she's sitting on the settee. 

Elain pouts, reaching out to pull at the sleeve of the gown, and sighs. "I suppose you're right... But it's such a pretty dress." 

"Not on her. The color clashes with her hair and it's too tight around the middle, Elain. Chose something else." 

The younger girl nods once before motioning for Tanaruz to remove the dress. Tanaruz is more then happy to comply. She peels the dress off and tosses it onto the bed with the other dresses that have been turned down. And while Tanaruz knows they're just getting ready for their debutante ball she can't wrap her head around the need to have so many dresses. 

But then... Her aunt had always had more gowns and jewels then the typical mortal would be able to wear in their lifetime. 

Isadora had always been so terribly fond of beautiful things and she's attempted to instill that love into her children as well as her nieces and nephews. Many of the gatherings Tanaruz had ever attended where all of her family were present were the ones hosted by Isadora. The memories are good ones. Filled with gentle music and golden light and gowns of starlight. 

"How about this?" 

Tanaruz turns to find Elain holding up a gown of golden fabric. 

It shimmers prettily in the light and Tanaruz swallows heavily. It's lovely. Tight around the bust and middle but with a loose skirt that falls in layers until it reaches the ground. 

Nesta makes a sound of improvement. 

"Try it on." 

Elain helps Tanaruz into the dress, lacing up the back for her when Tanaruz's fingers don't quite manage it, and then the younger girl is turning the girl around to face Nesta. The eldest sister observes her with a critical eye before nodding sagely. 

"It'll do for now. We'll have to find you more appropriate garb for the next one however." Nesta remarks. 

Tanaruz rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything as she turns to face the mirror. 

Her initial reaction is discomfort. She's not used to dresses like this. Gods have no use for modesty. Clothing is commonly worn but not for modesty. Many of Tanaruz's personal gowns are made of lace and sheer fabric and it reveals more then it conceals. So this gown... This strangely conservative gown, no matter how beautiful it may be, is uncomfortable and stiff and Tanaruz feels constricted. 

But she smiles to ease Elain and Nesta. 

"It is lovely." Tanaruz thinks it's the best thing to say. 

"Of course it is," Nesta scoffs, "Audrey is the finest seamstress there is." 

Tanaruz isn't phased by Nesta's attitude. She's been like this since they got back. Distant and cool. Tanaruz thinks it might be some kind of coping mechanism. A way to distance herself from the anger she feels for not being able to get Feyre back. Tanaruz understands. 

More then Nesta could ever possibly know. 

Because it was Tanaruz's job to protect the family that had taken her in and she failed. She _failed_. And now Feyre is gone and no one but Nesta realizes just how bad the situation really is. 

And it's not the fact that Feyre's with the fae, Tanaruz doesn't care about that, it's the fact that Tanaruz can't make the journey beyond the wall to get her in the mortal body Tanaruz now wears. 

But she can't do anything about it so she opts to distract herself as best she can. 

Just like Nesta. 

And this debutante ball is most definitely keeping Tanaruz occupied. 

 

* * *

 

Tanaruz tries not to fidget. She really does. But there are far too many people in the room and it's starting to make her skin crawl. 

There are close to two hundred people at Nesta and Elain's debutante ball. 

Two hundred people. 

It makes Tanaruz nervous having this many humans around her. Makes her feel like some kind of trapped animal... Which, she supposes she is in a way. So Tanaruz stays near the back of the room, between the servants entrance and a couple of glass doors that will lead to Elain's garden. 

Which will be absolutely beautiful by the time spring rolls around. 

"Wine, My Lady?" 

Tanaruz turns to smile at the serving boy. He's young, perhaps no older then thirteen, and fairly sweet. Typically he works in the kitchen, but it would appear he's been temporarily promoted. 

"Come now, Henrik, you know not to call me that." Tanaruz chides as she takes one of the glasses he offers. 

"But that would be improper, My Lady." Henrik mutters before disappearing into the crowd. 

He's blushing a faint pink though and Tanaruz finds it absolutely adorable. 

She takes a sip of her wine, grimacing slightly when the odd tang covers her tongue. It is not like the wine of her people but it's not unpleasant. Odd. That's the best word to describe this wine that the Archeron patriarch has ordered specifically for this event. 

"Come dance with us, Tanaruz." Elain begs, appearing beside Tanaruz as if out of nowhere. "You've far to many admirers to be a wall flower all night." 

Tanaruz raises an eyebrow, "Is that so?" 

"Oh yes! Edmund Fowler has been asking about you, but he's terribly shy I think and you intimidate him, then there's Elijah Keech and Isaac Warren as well and they've been dying for a dance as well."

"I see... And do my gentlemen callers send you to fetch me?"

"No of course not. Nesta has. She says it's terribly boring without you."

"Liar." Tanaruz laughs and laces her arm through Elain's.  

The younger girl leads her through the crowd, greeting guests and servants with gentle smiles and polite inquiries before walking off. Tanaruz catches many of the guests staring at Elain. Not surprising. She's a beauty, but tonight Tanaruz could have mistaken her for divinity.

Dressed in a gown of soft pink silk, little golden flowers painstakingly embroidered into the stiff bodice and sleeves. Tanaruz had done her hair, a series of braids that twist and twine around one another to form a fashionable bun held in place with little golden pins. She hadn't needed any makeup. Tanaruz is glad for that. Elain really doesn't need any of the fine powders and creams that the other women of court wear to hide their natural beauty. 

Eventually the two of them reach Nesta, dressed in a deep plum gown with pearls dripping from her neck and wrists, and the eldest Archeron sister offers them a polite grin. 

"Finally, I've been exceptionally bored." Nesta intones dryly, turning her attention away from the young man she'd been speaking to just moments before. 

"Oh please, you were perfectly content." Tanaruz laughs but she takes a seat on the settee beside Nesta. 

Nesta turns her body more toward Tanaruz and glances about for a moment. What she's looking for, Tanaruz isn't sure. But Nesta must find it because she turns her attention back to Tanaruz and offers a polite smile. Elain lowers herself onto the settee beside them. 

"See that man wearing the velvet coat? That's Edmund Fowler, his father is a noble and they own a generous bit of land." Nesta whispers conspiratorially, quietly, in such a way that no one knows what they're talking about save them. 

Tanaruz glances around in search of the man Nesta is talking about. 

She finds him speaking to a young woman in a red gown. And he's handsome enough... Tanaruz supposes. Tall and lithe with golden curls and pale flesh. But Tanaruz doesn't think she'd have given him a spare thought if Nesta hadn't told her too. So she shakes her head and turns back to Nesta. 

"Fine... See that one? Purple coat, swan embroidery?"

"Yes."

"That's Isaac Warren, his father is some second cousin or so to Queen Demetra. The family has power and money to spare." 

And Tanaruz studies the man Nesta is talking about... He's odd. Handsome, not as handsome as Edmund Fowler, but there's something in Tanaruz's gut twist unpleasantly. She shakes her head, not bothering with subtlety. No, this mortal man will not be coming anywhere near her if Tanaruz can help it. 

"No? Alright." Nesta glances about again. "See the man in the blue jacket? The tall one? Dark skin?" 

Tanaruz nods slowly. 

He's handsome as well, smiling and chatting with an elderly woman about something trivial no doubt. And he's more handsome then the last one. Tall and broad with amazing posture, full lips, and eyes that speak of a gentle soul... Tanaruz smiles a bit. He seems sweet. 

Nesta's smile is triumphant. 

"That's Elijah Keech a nobleman Neva. His father recently passed, leaving the wealth of the family in the hands of his eldest son." Nesta informs Tanaruz. "He's in search of a wife, I heard." 

"And why has he come so far from his home then?" Tanaruz demands. 

"He's here on business. Some of his father's trading partners live in these parts and Lord Keech is here to ensure they'll remain working with his family." 

"I see." 

And then she's casting another glance at Elijah Keech, who's gone from speaking with an elderly noble Lady to dancing with a young girl not much older then thirteen or fourteen. He's guiding her through the steps, smiling kindly when she steps on his toes. 

This time that twisting feeling in Tanaruz's gut tastes almost sweet. 

She frowns a bit, brow furrowing. This is a bad idea. Elijah Keech seems a sweet man, kind and good and any woman would be glad to marry him. Thrilled even. But Tanaruz is not a mere woman. She is a God and if by some miracle her divinity will return to her... And when that happens Tanaruz will no longer wear a mortal's flesh. Her blood will run gold and her body will stop aging and... And Tanaruz will not be the same. 

Marrying Elijah keech, loving Elijah Keech, is a terrible idea and it will lead to nothing good. 

For either of them. 

So she rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Nesta fully. 

"Why are you so insistent that I speak with these men, Nesta?" She laughs. 

"I'm not insisting anything," Nesta huffs, smoothing out her skirts, "I'm merely ensuring you have options." 

"Options?"

"Yes, options." 

"Well thank you for your kindness, Nesta. But I'm not looking for a husband nor am I looking for a bed warmer." Tanaruz breathes, leaning over to press the chastest of kisses to Nesta's fair cheek. 

The younger girl merely scoffs, but Tanaruz thinks she might be proud because she doesn't stop Tanaruz when she stands and makes her way for the grand doors leading out into the entrance hall where more and more guests are arriving. 

 

* * *

 

Nesta doesn't finish the season. 

She refuses invitations and doesn't speak to many people save Elain and Tanaruz. 

And when there are balls to attend or luncheons that the sisters are invited to Nesta feigns illness or just tells Elain she isn't going.

So Tanaruz stays with her. They sit in the library or in one of their rooms or in the music room and do whatever they please. Sometimes Tanaruz teaches her to play the fiddle, sometimes Nesta teaches her to sew. Other times they just talk about random things. But Tanaruz especially likes when they just sit in the library and read, taking comfort in each others company without needing to speak. 

But unlike Nesta, Tanaruz actually makes friends with the servants. 

More specifically the guards. 

She trains with them in the courtyard when the snow melts and the weather permits it. And after they beat each other to bloody pulp, because none of them hold back, the men take Tanaruz into the kitchen for beer and food and Mrs. Laurent fuses over Tanaruz. Muttering angrily about how Raul and the others need to stop being so damned brutal. 

Tanaruz, despite wanting to laugh, sits quietly and allows the house keeper to dab at her bloody lip with a white cloth. 

"Wanna go to the pub?" Kayden inquires after the woman walks away. "Mrs. Laurent's a bit much for me." 

Kayden's the youngest of the guards and Raul's little brother. He's charming but not Tanaruz's favorite. 

"The pub? What are you? Seven? No, we're stayin'." Julien snaps. 

Tanaruz takes a sip of her beer. 

She likes this. It reminds her of late nights and bonfires and drunken revelry. 

It reminds her of home. 

So she sits wedged between Derrick and Julien, sipping her beer, and laughing at the raunchy jokes they tell. And when Julien starts singing, his sweet tenor filling the air, Tanaruz sings along. 

And oh, it's been so very long since she's sung. 

"Honestly, you should be gettin' to bed you here me?" Mrs. Harper snaps, her hands buried in the dough she'll use to make loafs of bread for breakfast. 

But it's not that late yet and Tanaruz doubts she's going to force them out of the kitchen. 

"Oh my dearest Rose!" Raul cries, hands pressed to his heart, "How you wound me with your terrible words!" 

"I'll show you hurt." The aging cook mutters before walking off. 

Once she's gone Tanaruz turns to Raul. 

"You're such a prick." She laughs. 

Raul flashes her a dimpled, crooked smile and says, "Now a pretty thing like you shouldn't be usin' such dirty words." 

"Is that so?" 

"They don't sound right in you mouth. You're too exotic, pretty bird." Raul laments, then a spark flashes in his eyes and he laughs, "Now 'fuck' or 'shit'? I wouldn't mind hearing those words." 

"Yer a damn lecher." Derrick snarls, beer sloshing out of his mug as he shoves it at Raul. 

Tanaruz eases the greying man with a gentle hand on his arm before turning to Raul, "Drink you fucking beer." 

"See lads! Much prettier! Didn't I tell ya?" 

Kayden fills his brother's mug and grabs a roll from the bowl sitting in the middle of the table. The bowls Mrs. Harper made for them are filled with stew, spicy enough to burn the tongue and make eyes water. But they eat it anyway, washing the burn down with their beer. 

"Have you heard? Some poor bastard's house burned down in the village a few away." Roman remarks, his accent thick and voice slurred. 

Tanaruz frowns. 

"Whose house?" Raul demands seriously. 

"Some poor shmuck named, uh, Be... Be... Beddors!" Roman cries, then his face grows mournful as he says, "Burned alive. Tragic accident, went up in the night and no one got there to put the fire out before it was too late." 

Shit. 

 _Shit_. 

Tanaruz knew the Beddors, not well but she'd known them all the same. Clare, the daughter, was a sweet girl who'd told Tanaruz that her hair was pretty. She was Feyre's friend.... Or something very close to it. 

And it's that simple fact that sets something in Tanaruz raising it's hackles. 

That house didn't go up in flames on it's own. 

Someone, something, killed that fucking family in cold blood. Locked them in that house and set it ablaze and watched as the family trapped inside withered away like dried corn husks. 

"Excuse me," Tanaruz mutters, eyes flashing, "I'm tired." 

She's out of the kitchen before any of her new friends can stop her from leaving or ask if she's ok. 


	5. Chapter 5

The bathwater sends steam rising into the air around her, it flushes her skin a vivid shade of pink that clashes with her hair, but Tanaruz prefers the heat of the water over the chill that has seeped into her bones over the past couple of days. 

Clare Beddor and her poor, damned family is all Tanaruz can think about. 

Tanaruz sighs, drags a hand over her face, and moves to get out of the tub.

She grabs the towel laid out for her by one of the maids who'd insisted on filling her bath with sweet smelling oils and wraps it tight around her body as she steps over the ledge of the tub. Her personal bathroom is lovely, full of soft cream and gold, but Tanaruz doesn't like the bathroom for it's decor. She likes it because it's private. No one bothers her here. So Tanaruz can sit in silence and do as she pleases without having to worry about someone walking in on her. 

Today she's just washing off and getting ready for another day in the Archeron Mansion. 

And it sucks. 

All they ever do is attend balls or garden or sit in the library and read. The only reprieve comes when one of the guards ask if Tanaruz wants to train with them or do rounds with them. But lately that hasn't been enough. 

Tanaruz wants to run, she wants to feel wet soil between her toes and sunlight on her cheeks and wind tangling her hair. 

She wants her divinity back. 

Wants it back more then she's ever wanted anything in her entire millennia of existence. But it's not going to happen. Tanaruz has scoured the library since her arrival here and once her resources at the library in the manor ran dry Tanarus sought for the older tomes. Of course, it would probably help if Tanaruz could get her hands on magical texts. Not the stupidly mundane texts the mortals keep in their oh so glorious libraries. 

But then... She could always ask the Children of the Blessed.

Surely their temple libraries must hold some form of magical texts. And if not that, then stories of times when magic reigned supreme over these lands. Tanaruz might be able to glean something from such stories. It'd be a starting point at least.

Tanaruz glances at her reflection in the mirror.

She'll seek out the Children of the Blessed.

It's her only choice at this point. 

 

* * *

 

"Where are you going?" Elain inquires, sliding up beside Tanaruz as she makes her way across the courtyard and to the stables. 

"Out. I'm feeling a bit cooped up." Tanaruz explains, never looking up from the laces of her vest. 

The leather is thick and dark, meant to protect from lesser injuries. It was a gift from Raul after one of their sparring sessions where he cracked a few of her ribs. Tanaruz loves it. She would wear it everywhere if she could... Unfortunately protective leather isn't exactly something Nesta approves of Tanaruz wearing to a ball. 

Tragically. 

"Oh, will you be back before supper?" Elain's smile is hopeful.

"Perhaps... It will depend on the weather and if I find something exciting." 

The younger girl nods enthusiastically and Tanaruz almost feels guilt for lying to not only Elain but Nesta as well. They think she's merely  

And Tanaruz makes her way over to the stall housing the Blue Roan that Tanaruz had bought a mere three weeks prior. She'd named him Daario, after her father. Odd as that might be. 

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Elain inquires, picking almost absently at her nail. 

"I will be as careful as my journey allows me to be." 

She doesn't comment on the weapons strapped to her body. 

Neither does Elain. 

it's an unspoken rule between them. Elain doesn't ask about the weapons, nor does she reprimand Tanaruz from having them, and Tanaruz doesn't bring up the fact that Tanaruz could easily cut out her throat by making offhanded comments about them. 

"And you have everything? Food? Water? Clothes? Money?" 

"Calm, Elain. I have everything I need." 

 _Besides_ , she thinks, _the Children of the Blessed do not live so far away_. 

Elain nods, floppy hat bouncing a bit. 

"Well then, I wish you luck." 

"Thank you, Elain." 

And then Elain is reaching out to pull Tanaruz into her sweet embrace. Tanaruz smiles into her shoulder, praying to whatever Gods rule this land that they will be safe while she is away. 

When the two separate Tanaruz places a chaste kiss upon Elain's rosy cheek. 

Then she's turning and making her way to Daario, lifting herself up into the saddle, and taking hold of his reins. 

"Be safe, Elain." Tanaruz says before she presses her heels into her horse's flank. 

 

* * *

 

It is a three day journey to the Temple where the Children of the Blessed reside. 

Built away hours from any village and safely tucked away from view by rolling hills. 

Tanaruz does not like the place. 

The stone is too clean, the gardens too well cared for, the acolytes too happy. This place, this paradise they have built around themselves, is a lie. Tanaruz has seen many temples, she has a few of her own, and not one of those temples had worshipers and acolytes and priests who are as happy as these Children of the Blessed. 

"May I take your horse, My Lady?" A stable bow implores, the silver around his wrists glinting dully in the dawn light. 

"Thank you," Tanaruz says as she passes off Daario. "The priest of this temple, might I speak with him? Or her?" 

The boy's face lights up, "Lady Sorcha would be most pleased to see you! One moment and I shall take you to her." 

Tanaruz bows her head in thanks but does not take her eyes off of the child. Not because she thinks he's going to try and steal some of her things, there's not much to steal, but because she's more interested in the actions of the boy then the structure of the barn. 

Several moments pass before the boy returns, smoothing his hands over his thighs, and motioning for Tanaruz to follow him to the temple. She does, brushing her fingers over the hilt of her hunting knife which has been tucked within her belt. Safe and easy to reach. Should something happen, not that Tanaruz thinks anything _will_ happen, then she'll have something to protect herself with. 

So she follows the boy to the temple and up the stairs and through the ornate doors. Acolytes and priests stare at them, tittering happily with their excitement. Whether they're excited about the prospect of a new acolyte or merely curious about the auburn haired woman Tanaruz isn't sure. 

Quite honestly, she can't bring herself to care. 

"One moment, My Lady, I'll inform Sorcha of your arrival." 

Tanaruz offers a thin smile, "Thank you." 

The boy nods once before disappearing through a door and into a room. 

And the wait is a short one. Tanaruz thinks she might have been in the hall for less then a minute or so before an older looking woman with graying hair and soft eyes exits the room the boy had gone into. 

"You must be the traveler, Malichi told me of. Come in, we'll discuss why you've come to us." The woman, who must be Sorcha, insists. 

A curt nod and thin smile at the boy who slips past Sorcha is the only reply she gives the aging mortal before following her into the room. 

 

* * *

 

Lies are an easy thing to weave. 

Especially when you know what someone wants to hear. 

And this woman, Sorcha, a Priestess at this temple is easy enough to understand. 

She's a High Priestess, a woman tasked with keeping her temple and acolytes safe and fed and cared for. And she is easily swayed into believing Tanaruz is fae. Of course, Tanaruz never confirmed that she is fae... She just... Implied. Let the priestess think that the reason Tanaruz came to them was because she knew they would not harm her in her weakened state. 

And when she asks the priestess to let her use the vast library Sorcha is more than happy to comply. Summoning a young woman in white robes and silver jewelry named Amalia to guide Tanaruz to the temple library. 

Neither of them talk on the way there, but Tanaruz does cast Amalia a glance. 

There is a smear of yellow and green on her wrist, barely hidden by the sleeve of her robes, and it's obviously several weeks old and nearly healed. The bruises are far too thick to belong to another child and it's not unlikely that Amalia acquired the bruises from a male relative. Tanaruz has seen such things before. None of those who had ever touched a child with the intent to harm had survived the young goddess's wrath. 

For children are precious, sweet things. Especially among the divine, who age and grow so quickly. 

And she's glad Amalia fled before more harm befell her. 

"Here you are, my Lady." Amalia breathes, soft and quiet. 

Timid. 

Tanaruz feels something in her gut clench painfully. And so she crouches before the child and rests her arms on her knees. 

"Have you been here long, Amalia?" 

A slow shake of the head. 

"No? Hmm. You know this place fairly well for someone who has only just arrived. I'm impressed." Tanaruz lies, but her tone gives no hint of the deception and Amalia looks up at her through wide eyes. 

Tanaruz can only image what Sorcha told Amalia when she'd fetched the girl. But she can certainly make an educated guess. She probably wouldn't be that far off either. Sorcha's probably told the child that Tanaruz is of the fae, glamoured and hidden for her own safety, seeking the knowledge the Children of the Blessed possess in an attempt to learn about those who are being sent beyond the wall. 

Ridiculous. 

Now she understands why Nesta hates them so much. 

The Children of the Blessed are more trouble then they're worth. 

"I... Thank you..." 

"Yes... Please tell your High Priestess that I'll be here most of the day and do not wish to be disturbed." Tanaruz demands, then she's turning on her heel and making her way into the library before Amalia can say anything more. 

 

* * *

 

Hours fly by. Tanaruz reads more books then she can count on the Fae and the land beyond the wall but she still hasn't found anything that will help her get her divinity back. Well... Nothing plausible anyway. 

There was mention of a Cauldron in one of the books Tanaruz had pulled from a shelf but the reference had been more of a passing comment then anything else and that's frustrating... But it's been the only useful information that she's found so far. 

So it's with a sigh that Tanaruz shuts the book and slides it to the left to join the pile of books that she's rejected. 

"May I help you find anything?" 

Tanaruz looks up at the aged man who has appeared before her. 

"No... There is nothing, thank you." 

The man hums and reaches for one of the books, contemplating it for a moment before saying, "Perhaps you would find yourself more interested in the lower levels? Hm? The books there are fairly old." 

And then he's gone, hobbling off to replace a few books he'd pulled from the pile on Tanaruz's desk. 

As soon as he's out of sight Tanaruz leaves her chair, making her way across the large room, and stopping before a door at the very back of the library. 

She'd noticed it earlier, an easy thing to do as it's the only other door in the room, and hadn't thought much of it until now. 

Her mistake. 

Without thought Tanaruz reaches out to pull the door open, hesitating for but a moment before grinding her teeth and pulling. She is met with dim light and the smell of ancient paper. 

Something like excitement wells in her belly as she steps into the darkness and pulls the door shut behind her. 

 

* * *

 

"Where are you." Tanaruz mutters, fingers trailing over the spines of books and ancient tomes. 

Whatever reason the man upstairs had for telling her to look here... Tanaruz bites her lips. The books and tomes lining the shelves of this chamber are old enough to make Tanaruz nervous to touch any of them. The parchment is yellow and dry, cracked in places and faded in others. But the age of these texts is also a very good thing as Tanaruz has learned that in the hands of mortals ancient knowledge is often overlooked, considered less valuable in comparison to newer information. 

Tanaruz sighs. 

And as she's getting ready to turn and leave something catches her eye. 

It's a book bound in black leather. There is no lettering on the spine, nothing to indicate that this book is worth opening. But... Tanaruz reaches for it anyway, cringing when she touches the leather. 

Cold and slick. 

Tanaruz grits her teeth and flips the first page open and lowers herself to the ground. 

And she reads. 

* * *

 

By the time Tanaruz returns home, the stolen book from the temple tucked safely in her saddle bag, it's late into the evening. 

She's exhausted, in need of a bath and a good meal, and she just wants to sleep. But that's not likely to happen. Because it would appear a party is being held... For whatever reason. 

With a sigh Tanaruz resigns herself to sneaking through the mansion. Because she really doesn't want to have to deal with people right now and she doesn't want to piss off anyone for appearing before the crowd in her dirty riding pants and not exactly greasy hair. So she sneaks around the mansion to the kitchen entrance and slips inside, smiling at the servants and stealing a couple of sweets from one of the trays before slipping out into one of the halls. 

Then she hauls ass to her room. 

Once she's safely tucked away Tanaruz strips out of her clothes and makes her way to the bathroom where she turns on the taps that will fill the tub. The moment it's full Tanaruz steps in, hissing slightly at the heat of the water, but otherwise unaffected. 

A wary glance at the door shows that no one has followed her. 

So she reaches for the book she's placed on the floor beside the tub and flips it open. 

The first chapters or so speak of a Cauldron, after that information of Prythian and Hybern and the mortal slaves that rebelled, after those chapters there is information on the other courts, and after that the creatures that live beyond the wall. 

Only a few have caught the young goddess's attention.

The Suriel, who is younger than the Cauldron but older then the world. Then there are the Old Gods; The Bone Carver, Koschei, and The Weaver. Ancient beings worshiped by ancient fae when the world was new... But from the information Tanaruz has learned The Weaver is a heinous bitch that eats people who come to her and Koschei is trapped at the bottom of a lake on the continent. Which leaves the Bone Carver, locked away in a prison beyond the wall. 

Tanaruz flips the page and bites her lip. 

There is another. 

A creature of nightmares, the book describes him as. A being that strikes fear into the hearts of any who look upon him. There is no name for him, no description of his face or his powers. Just a warning. Written in shaky penmanship. _Beware the King of Nightmares_. _Beware he who swallows the light_. 

"Gods above." Tanaruz mutters as she snaps the book closed. 

No matter what choice she makes Tanaruz won't be able to find any of them. The book doesn't say where Koschei is locked away nor does it tell where the Prison keeping the Bone Carver is kept, and Tanaruz isn't going to seek out the Weaver. And the library where the last being is kept is deep within the Court of Nightmares. 

And Tanaruz isn't fool enough to think she can survive such a place without magic. 

She sighs and tosses the book onto the clothes she has sitting near the tub. 

At this rate she's going to die a mortal. 

Isn't that just wonderful? 

 

* * *

 

"Nesta said you'd left... I thought you weren't coming back." 

Tanaruz freezes. Blinking owlishly at the woman sitting on her bed. 

She's almost unrecognizable. Tanned to the point that freckles have dusted her cheeks, hair streaked with honey gold, the body that had once been so terribly thin has filled out beautifully due to proper nutrition.

"Feyre." It's the only thing Tanaruz can manage to force from her mouth.

And Feyre's cheek grow damp with her tears as Tanaruz crosses the room and wraps her friend in a tight hug. The older girl isn't sure what to do with her hands, caught between wanting to claw at her friend's shirt and sob and run her fingers through soft hair and laugh.

Because she's back.

Back and alive and healthy. 

"I went looking for you." Tanaruz breathes as she pulls away, "I went after you and I would have come for you but I couldn't and I'm... Oh, Feyre, I am so sorry."

Feyre's lips quivers but her smile is gentle as she replies, "Don't be sorry. I was not hurt and I..."

The silence is thick with tension. Like Feyre is afraid to say something. Like she's not sure where she and Tanaruz stand. But Tanaruz runs her hand over the back of Tanaruz's hair and presses her forehead to Feyre's.

"Feyre, you can tell me anything." Tanaruz promises, lowering herself to the bed beside her friend. 

And Feyre speaks after a long moment. "I was wrong. When Tamlin took me I hated him, I thought him a monster, but... I was wrong. I have met so many fae and while some were just like the monsters we're told about as children there were some that were kind and I... Have you ever been in love?" 

"In a sense." Tanaruz says, because she knows what love is. 

Love is her mother's laughter and her father's hand resting on the crown of her head, it is the light that fills Areus' eyes when he speaks of his precious constellations, it's Isella and Myra sneaking into Tanaruz's bed in the middle of the night. Love is Tanaruz's forest and the people living on her mountain and the festivals held during the solstices and the way sunlight glints off of the snow beneath her feet. 

But Tanaruz doubts this is the type of love Feyre is talking about. 

Especially when a light dusting of pink colors her friend's freckled cheeks. 

"Have you fallen in love with one of them?" Tanaruz finds herself asking, something like excitement building in her chest. 

For if that's true, if Feyre has fallen in love with a fae, then Tanaruz will have no more reason to lie to her friend. If this is true then Tanaruz will tell Feyre everything. 

'I... Don't know... I think I might be but..." 

"You're not sure." 

"No. I know that I care for him. More then I've cared for a man before. But I have never experienced love and I am afraid of it." 

Tanaruz licks her lip. "May I ask something of you something?" 

"Of course." 

"Tell me everything?" 

It's more a demand then a question but Feyre nods never the less and tells Tanaruz about the Spring Court and Lucien and Tamlin and Calanmai and the High Lord of the Night Court and... And she makes a passing comment about Amarantha and some curse. 

This catches the young goddess's attention. 

Amarantha had been mention in the book Tanaruz had taken from the Children of the Blessed. A general of Hybern and a sadist to boot. If that woman is in Prythian then something is seriously wrong. 

And they are all in danger. 

But how can she tell Feyre this without causing suspicion or anger? 

Tanaruz casts her friend a look. 

Feyre is staring at her, brows furrowed, eyes curious. She must have stopped talking at some point. Tanaruz sighs. She's going to have to tell her eventually. It's only a matter of time anyway. 

So the young goddess steals her nerves and turns to Feyre with wide, pleading eyes. 

"Feyre, I need to tell you something and I need you to promise to listen to me." Tanaruz begs. 

"Of course." Feyre sounds confused, like she doesn't understand Tanaruz's sudden apprehension. 

A nod and a glance at the door has Tanaruz loosing a sigh. 

And then she begins speaking.

And she tells Feyre everything. 


	6. Chapter 6

_"Mother?" Tanaruz asks, fingers reaching up to wrap around the jeweled wrist of her mother, "How do you kill a God?"_

_She's young. The signs of her coming beauty showing in the vibrant tone of her hair and the slops of her jaw and the shade of her eyes. So different from her mother who has draped herself so carefully across the large stones near the river where Tanaruz plays._

_Her mother laughs, head tossed back, midnight hair tumbling down her shoulders. She doesn't appear concerned with her daughter's morbid curiosity. They rarely see each other anyway and indulgence is better then concern at this point. So her mother picks Tanaruz up and pulls her into her arms and presses chaste kisses to her cheek._

_"Oh sweetling..." She laughs as she threads her fingers through wild auburn hair. "We are immortal. We are ageless. We will never die."_

 

* * *

 

Days later Feyre leaves. 

She's going back to the wall, back to her fae lord and the danger that hunts him. 

Tanaruz offers her horse, more than fully aware that she'll likely never see the beautiful blue roan again. A sacrifice Tanaruz will mourn but never regret. For Daario is the fastest, the strongest, he will carry Tanaruz loyally and will not spook should something attack them. Daario is safer then the young mare Feyre had considered taking anyway. 

"I wish I could go with you." Tanaruz whispers as she pulls Feyre close. 

A parting embrace, perhaps their last. 

Feyre is heading for the lion's den after all. She, a lamb in comparison to the creatures living beyond The Wall. And she might have experience with a weapon but what is experience when your enemy has power? 

"I wish you could too." Feyre replies just as softly. 

She took the news of Tanaruz's divinity fairly well. All things considered. There had been distrust at first, anger as well, but eventually Feyre had tried to understand. And when she'd demanded to know why Tanaruz hadn't told her sooner there had been no reason to lie, so Tanaruz spoke of all of her doubts and fear and apprehension. It was the first time Tanaruz had ever seen Feyre cry. 

It probably won't be the last. 

And before they pull apart Tanaruz places a chaste kiss to Feyre's cheek. 

The rage that bubbles in her chest is not directed at Feyre, who has pulled away and is making her way to Daario's side. If anything, it's directed at Tanaruz herself. Because there's nothing she can do to help her friend. Without her divinity Tanaruz cannot bless Feyre, she cannot offer the younger woman the protection so many of Tanaruz's kin has gifted to the mortals they favor. 

If she'd been a goddess still Tanaruz would have followed Feyre beyond the wall. 

She would have destroyed whatever armies awaited her and burned those who fought against her to the ground. 

As she watches Feyre guide Daario through the gates of the Archeron manor Tanaruz grinds her teeth. And the moment Feyre disappears from view Tanaruz is turning on her heel and making her way into the manor. 

She needs to talk to Nesta. 

 

* * *

 

Nesta is easier to tell. 

Of course, the younger girl rages. It's understandable. Her eyes flash and she spits out mean things before storming out of Tanaruz's room. She doesn't talk to Tanaruz for a few days. If they pass each other in the corridors Nesta sneers or glares or pretends Tanaruz isn't even there. But in the end the eldest Archeron sister shows up in the library when Tanaruz is pouring over the book she took from the Children of the Blessed, pulls out a chair, and sits down across from Tanaruz. 

"Tell me everything." She hisses, not unlike an enraged cat. 

Tanaruz closes her book, carefully tucking a piece of ribbon between the pages. "Everything? There's not enough time to tell you everything?" 

"Fine. How old are you?" 

"I'm well into my first millennium." Tanaruz offers, smiling softly when Nesta's jaw slackens a bit. 

She's still relatively young... By the standards of her people anyway. And it's unlikely Nesta's met anyone older then, perhaps, ninety years old. 

"Why haven't you gone back? Why have you stayed with us?" Nesta demands. 

If she's aware of the tremble in her tone she doesn't mention it. 

Tanaruz shrugs. "I can't go back. I have no powers here, no divinity, no way to return to my family. If Feyre hadn't found me in the forest that day I would be dead." 

"But you're a God... Or so you claim." Nesta retorts. 

And the auburn haired goddess offers a smile that's more teeth then anything else as she says, "Even Gods can die, Nesta." 

The younger girl frowns, her fingers drum against the table. Tanaruz wonders if Nesta wants to ask her something and is either too afraid or to angry to do so. The goddess leans back in her chair, book forgotten, and offers a cool smile. 

"I won't bite you Nesta." She says. 

A blush spreads across the young woman's cheeks, a deep red flush that speaks of true embarrassment. 

"Can you... Is there a way to..." Nesta waves at Tanaruz. 

"Is there a way for me to regain my divinity?" Nesta nods. "There is a possibility, yes, but it would require me to travel beyond The Wall."

"Oh," Nesta pauses for a long moment and then asks, "Why haven't you gone then?"

Tanaruz leans back in her seat and tilts her head to the side. Then she sighs, runs a hand through loose hair, and leans forward. 

"I stay, Nesta, because you are my friend." Tanaruz makes sure to keep her tone low so that no one else who might be in near can hear them. "And I always look after those I hold dear. Me not having my divinity isn't going to change that."

Nesta nods, slow and hesitant, before a tentative smile pulled at one side of her mouth.

This isn't a surrender. Nesta is still angry and Tanaruz will not apologize. But while it isn't a surrender Tanaruz thinks that it might be pretty close to one.

 

* * *

 

Elain is being courted by a man named Grayson. 

He's fairly attractive, tall and pretty too look at with his brown hair and blue eyes, and he seems nice enough. It's quite obvious that he's smitten with Elain, which is probably a good thing seeing as he wants to marry her. 

Tanaruz just can't shake the feeling that the relationship is going to end badly. 

"You seem distracted." Raul comments, the blade in his hand glinting dangerously. 

They don't practice with dulled blades. Tanaruz won't let them. Whatever they decide to practice with in their own time is up to them but when they train with her they use real blades. She thinks practicing with dul,l or wooden, swords takes away from their skills. No one on a battlefield is going to have a blunt sword so why would anyone want to practice with one? 

Tanaruz shrugs. "Grayson is coming today." 

"Oh? He's still courting her then?" 

"Yes... Nesta is suspicious of him though. Insists at least one of us is near him at all times." 

Her relationship with Nesta has gotten better. There is still an element of distrust but Tanaruz thinks Nesta understands the young goddess' plight... Well, to the best of her ability anyway. 

Raul smirks. 

"She hasn't cut his cock off yet? That's surprising." Raul laughs. 

Tanaruz rolls her eyes, "Come off it. Nesta isn't a damn harpy." 

"Maybe not, but she's really very protective. Just last week she came after me for roughing up that pretty face or yours." Raul rubs the back of his hand across his forehead to get rid of the sweat that's accumulated there.  

"Oh please, you're fine." 

"I was attacked!" 

Tanaruz raises an eyebrow, spinning her sword through the air, she shrugs. 

"I honestly think you're going to live." Tanaruz remarks dryly. 

Raul presses a hand to his chest, just over where his heart beats. "I am offended." 

"Like I said, you'll live." 

"What pissed in your breakfast?" Raul demands, sheathing his sword. 

Obviously he's putting an end to their training for the day. That's not fun. But Tanaruz understands and she respects Raul enough that she doesn't argue with his decision. Doesn't mean she has to like it. 

"Nothing pissed in my breakfast." Tanaruz growls. 

Now she's annoyed. 

Raul doesn't know when to keep his nose out of other people's business and when he decides someone's business is his business he doesn't let it go. The fucker. Tanaruz doesn't necessarily enjoy sharing her private life with others. 

"Right. You're just naturally pissed off." 

The auburn haired goddess rolls her eyes, sheathes her blade, and moves away.  

Raul follows, all smiles and laughter as he chases her into the shade of the armory. 

"Do I detect jealousy?" Raul laughs. 

"Hardly. Grayson would not make a good husband." 

 _He is weak_ , Tanaruz wants to say, _he does not know what it's like to survive_. 

But Tanaruz, she knows. Tanaruz who spent much of her life living on her mountain. Surviving off of nothing but the prayers of the mortals who worship her and that which she made for herself. Grayson, though kind enough, has never known what struggle is. He has not faced harsh winters where food is scarce, he has not faced raids. What Grayson has is hate and bitterness and a misplaced sense of importance. 

"Then why do you dislike him so?" 

Tanaruz stills for a moment before reaching out to placer the sword she'd borrowed back on the wall. 

"I think he is weak." 

"Not everyone can be strong, Tanaruz, not even a future lord." 

"No, but one can at least try to be. Grayson would rather rely on his family's money then make a name for himself." This is what truly makes Tanaruz dislike him. This and the fact that he would attempt to flay the flesh off of Tanaruz's bones if he found out what she is. 

He wouldn't be able to, of course, Tanaruz is too careful for that. 

But he would certainly try. 

"Look, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." 

And then she's gone. Walking away from Raul and the looks he keeps giving her. 

 

* * *

 

"What's the first thing you remember?" Nesta asks later that day when the two of them are getting themselves ready for dinner with Grayson and his family. 

Tanaruz casts Nesta a look before shrugging into the outer robes of her dress. 

"Snow... It was snowing. There was a mountain and we were so close to the sky that you could count every single star." 

"We?" 

"My mother. That was the night she gave birth to me." 

"Oh." 

Nesta seems legitimately perturbed.

Without thought Tanaruz pulls off the shirt she'd been training in, it reeks of sweat and dirt, and she pointedly ignores the squawk of disapproval Nesta gives her when Tanaruz tosses the shirt onto the bed. Then Tanaruz is reaching for clean bindings and the shift she'll have to wear with her dress- a blue thing with golden birds embroidered into the bodice. Very pretty... Very expensive. 

A long moment passes between the two of them. 

"Tanaruz?" 

"Yes, Nesta?" 

"That day you left? What were you searching for?" 

"I went to the Children of the Blessed to see if there might be any information about getting my divinity back." 

"Oh... Did you find anything?" 

"Nothing that will help me." 

"Are you certain?" 

"If I want my divinity back I would either have to travel beyond the wall or across the sea. If I were to do either there is no way for my to ensure my own success... Not in this body. There are too many creatures that would be able to kill me and then there are the... No, there is no way that I am aware of yet." 

"Well that's stupid." Nesta barks. "You might be stuck in a mortal body but you've got experience and training... I doubt you'd fail." 

"Thank you Nesta, truly, but the risks are greater than the benefits. It would be too dangerous... Besides, I would rather spend my time with you and Elain." 

"Right." 

Nesta rolls off of the bed, carefully tossing the dress she'd chosen earlier at Tanaruz's head. She catches it with a gentle laugh and slips into the mass of blue velvet while Nesta begins sifting through the sparse amount of jewelry Tanaruz keeps in the little wooden box Nesta's father made for her. Nesta pulls out a long string of pearls and walks over to Tanaruz where she begins carefully wrapping the necklace around the auburn haired woman's neck. 

Once she's satisfied with the result Nesta steps back. 

"Do I meet your standards?" Tanaruz asks. 

Instead of an answer she gets a raised eyebrow and twinkling blue eyes. 

Without thought she reaches out to sling her arm around Nesta's shoulders so that she can guide the other girl from the room and into the hall. She slips on a pair of white slippers at the door, giggling as Nesta makes a comment about white shoes being impractical. Tanaruz has never has an issue though and she guides Tanaruz down to the entry hall where Elain and the Archeron Patriarch wait. 

 

* * *

 

Graysen is far better company than his father. He's polite, he's calm, and he doesn't enrage Tanaruz every time he opens his mouth. He's not exactly the type of person Tanaruz would opt to spend her time with but he's far, far better than his father. It's only been thirty minutes since dinner was served and Tanaruz already wants to beat her head against the table, if only to get way from Graysen's father. 

His father, who keeps shooting Tanaruz looks as he speaks to the Archeron Patriarch about the ash wood grove he takes great pride in. 

As if Tanaruz should be interested in the conversation at all. 

"Should the wall fall, of course." Graysen's father finishes, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a cloth. 

Tanaruz turns her head slightly to meet Nesta's eyes, raising her eyebrows slightly, causing the younger woman to nearly choke on her wine.

"Are you alright, Lady Nesta?" 

Lady Nesta, oh that really must have brushed her the wrong way. 

The brunette waves Graysen off. 

"The wine's a bit strong I'm afraid." She says. 

"Are you feeling unwell Nesta? Do you need to rest?" Elain asks, eyes wide and kind. 

"I don't thin-ah!" Tanaruz kicks Nesta in the shin. "Oh, well, perhaps that would be best. I've been feeling rather out of sorts." 

"I'll escort you to your room Nesta." Tanaruz stands as she speaks, bowing her head to Nolan and Graysen. "A pleasure to see you both again and in good health." 

Then she wraps a hand around Nesta's arm and promptly drags the younger girl from the room.

 

* * *

 

They raid the kitchen, grabbing a flagon of sweet wine and some fruit before racing to Nesta's room using the servant halls. It's better than being stuck in the dining room with Nolan. 

Once the two of them have shut and bolted Nesta's door Tanaruz strips out of her gown and shift and grabs one of Nesta's night dresses out of the wardrobe. Typically she'd sleep naked but she's learned that most humans don't and she needs to look human. 

So she dons Nesta's night gown and jumps onto the bed where her friend waits. 

She steals the wine flagon. 

"Won't you be missed?" 

"No. Maybe. Who cares? Nolan's a creepy fucker." 

Nesta scoffs and takes the flagon. 

"Now, I know you're old and that you apparently remember everything but tell me something I don't know." Nesta isn't begging exactly but it's pretty close. "Tell me something interesting." 

"Interesting? Like what?" 

"I don't know! Your gifts, your family, the first lover you ever had. Anything." 

Nesta takes another long drag from the flagon and Tanaruz gnaws at her bottom lip for a moment before snapping. 

"I turned a man into a beetle once... Kept in in a little glass box for over three hundred years." 

"Really? Why?" 

Tanaruz takes a sip from the wine flagon before replying, "He was an ass and he tried to kill my sister. Isella was young then, naive in ways most gods are when they're that young." 

"What did he do?" 

"Maddox proclaimed himself King of all the Light Touches... Because Isella is the Sun and she blessed him. Anyway, he got it into his head that he was better than us, that we were cruel and hateful, so he tried to take a blade to my sister." 

"I take it he didn't succeed." 

"He did not." 

Because Isella had burned out his eyes. Had dug her thumbs into the watery organ and watched as the bloody ran down his face, similar to the ichor running down hers. Tanaruz turning him into a beetle had been the kindest mercy she had been willing to offer the bastard. 

She pops a grape into her mouth. 

"Tanaruz?" Nesta asks.

"Yes?"

"May I ask you something personal? Really personal." 

"Of course."

Nesta hesitates for only a moment. 

"How do you kill a god?" 

_Mother, how do you kill a god?_

Tanaruz blinks slowly, the wine flagon limp in her grasp. 

She trusts Nesta, she doubts the girl wants to kill her. Nesta has had every opportunity to do so before this moment. So it's not Nesta's question that gives Tanaruz pause. No, nothing like that. 

The auburn haired goddess sighs tiredly. 

"There are many ways. Forget them, stop worshiping them, deprive them... They will weak until they mere shades of themselves." 

"But that's killing."

"No, it's not." 

"So how do you kill a God?" 

And something flashes in Tanaruz's eyes as she finally utters, "Only a God can kill another God." 


	7. Chapter 7

Winter comes and so does Yule, this is a holiday similar to what Tanaruz might have celebrated on her mountain. A celebration during the Winter Solstice that Elain decorates for with garlands made of Holy and Ivy with sprigs of mistletoe scattered here and there that she instructs the maids to wrap around banisters and pillars, silver is polished until it gleams, the kitchen staff prepares a feast fit for the mightiest of kings, and sealed with golden wax is delivered to many of the nobles that have invited the Archerons to their own functions as well as to the ones who have only ever been invited to the Archeron's emerald-roofed estate. 

Tanaruz cuts wood while Elain and Nesta prepare for the celebrations to be held at the estate. 

Silver Fir for the day of the solstice and Birch for the month following. Oak and pine makes its way into the assemblage of woods that she cuts but they hold other significance and some of the smaller pieces will be made into gifts for the Archeron family. 

Masks. 

She's going to make them masks. 

A lioness for Nesta, to symbolize strength and bravery. 

A doe for Elain, for the tenderness and innocence she wears like silk.  For the acceptance she'd shown Tanaruz when the auburn haired woman had told her _everything_. 

A crow for Mr. Archeron, who has shown so much change in the time Tanaruz has known him.

A wolf for Feyre, for the protectiveness she'd showed her family, for the loyalty. 

They are not masks rgar will be worn the way Tanaruz would like. They will not be seen as much more than a decorative gifts that will be placed out of sight after they have been received but... Tanaruz still takes a rather long amount of time trying to decide on which pieces of wood she will use to make these gifts. Because despite the fact that the Archerons will not know what they mean they are still important to Tanaruz and she would never give someone so important to her something she would not appreciate being given herself. 

So once she's gathered a fair bit of wood Tanaruz begins the long trek back to the estate where she will likely be dragged into helping Elaine and Nesta prepare for the upcoming festivities. 

Not, Tanaruz decides as she catches sight of sunlight dancing on ice covered shingles, that is necessarily a bad thing. 

She enjoys spending time with her friends. 

And so when she steps into the estate, kicking snow off of her boots and handing off the wood with specific instructions to send specific pieces to her chambers, and Elain appears beside her Tanaruz merely smiles and allows the younger girl to drag her off into the estate. 

"You're just in time! Nesta and I were beginning to wonder whether or not we'd have to send Raul after you!" Elain giggles. 

Tanaruz rolls her eyes, she knew telling Elain and Nesta about the night she'd spent in the guards bed was a bad idea. 

"Come now, you know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Tanaruz replies, slipping out of her coat before it can cause her to start sweating. 

"True, however, it's cold out there and we thought it might do you some good to warm up." 

"Are you implying something, Elain?" 

Instead of a vocal response the flower grower merely wiggles her eyebrows causing Tanaruz to snort loud enough to drag the attention of several men and women away from their tasks and to her. 

She smiles apologetically and waves them off. 

"But on a more serious note, I do have a question." Elain says, eyes wide and concerned. 

"Yes?"

"Nesta and I were wondering if you'd prefer not to come tonight..." 

"Is something the matter Elain?" 

"Well, no, not exactly... It's just," the girl pauses, "it's just that we understand that this will be your first Yuletide away from your family and I didn't know if you even celebrated Yuletide."

A gentle smile stretches Tanaruz' mouth as she reaches over to smooth back Elain's hair. 

"I miss my family, Elain, I do... But you and Nesta? You are my family now too and I would be _honored_ to spend Yuletide with you." 

Even if it will hurt to spend it in the presence of nobles who will not jump over the great fires or participate in the revelries Tanaruz knows and loves best. Even though it will hurt to look over her shoulder expecting to see a sibling or a parent and see nothing but a stranger's vacant eyes. 

But she will have Elain and Nesta, they are her family and they will not leave her in this time of need even if she does not ask them to stay. Because they love her. Because she loves them. Because theirs is not a family made of blood but forged from trust and experiences and hardships. 

They are not shield sisters, they have not fought beside Tanaruz, they have not shared mead after a long battle nor have they mourned lost brothers or sisters but... They are still her sisters. Tanaruz would still lay her life down for them. 

"Good," Elaine breathes, "I was so worried you wouldn't." 

And Tanaruz presses a chaste kiss to Elain's cheek before replying, "Come Elain, I'm sure Nesta is beginning to wonder where the hell we are." 

Elain's laughter is a soft thing that warms the spot in Tanaruz's heart meant specifically for her. Without thought Tanaruz begins leading the younger woman to the ball room where Nesta is likely waiting for them, smiling the entire way. 

 

* * *

It takes hours for her to finish the masks. It's familiar work, if it weren't Tanaruz suspects it would have taken much longer, and she starts with the easier designs- Elain's doe and Mr. Archeron's crow, before moving on to the snarling lioness that now lies on Nesta's pillow. 

Feyre's mask will have to wait until tomorrow but... Tanaruz doubts it will matter. 

None of them have heard or seen from the youngest Archeron since her visit over the summer and while Tanaruz knows she's alive the goddess doubts she will be seen for a very long time yet. 

So her mask will have to wait until tomorrow when the rest of the estate rests from hours of revelry. 

Because Feyre's mask will need patience and time and explicit detail that she doesn't have time to do after finishing Nesta's. 

And she casts the tools and untouched wood a sad glance as she begins lacing the front of her gown. The deep blue looks almost black in the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace and Tanaruz carefully pulls every fiery strand of hair over one shoulder before pinning it in place with a silver comb embedded with sapphire. 

She feels heavy. 

Wrong. 

This is not what she is supposed to wear. 

She is supposed to wear a pair of deer skin leggings and a white shirt with billowing sleeves that fall off of her shoulders and a vest made of soft leather to match her boots. She is supposed to plait her hair, weave carved beads into the strands. The only color she is supposed to be wearing should come form the wreath of holy and mistletoe crowing her head. 

But this will have to do. 

A sharp knock on her door has Tanaruz making her way over to see who it is. 

"What is this?" Nesta demands, the snarling lion mask raised to eye level. 

"A gift, my people wear them when celebrating the Winter Solstice." Tanaruz explains, stepping back to allow the red clad Archeron sister into her room. 

"And are you expecting us to wear them tonight?" Nesta demands, oddly agitated. 

"No," Tanaruz finds herself biting back. "I had merely thought to gift you with something important to me. I'm sorry to have _offended_ you." 

Nesta sighs, her eyes drifting to the mask in her hand. She fingers the wood, smooth and polished. She sighs. 

"Come, it's almost time." 

"Of course." 

Tanaruz almost reaches out to snatch the mask out of Nesta's hand but stops herself before she can. She has to remind herself that Nesta does not know. Has to remind herself that the only person who knows the significance of the masks is far beyond the wall. 

Feyre is not here to explain and Tanaruz does not think she should have too. 

She's already told Nesta and Elain so much, she's exposed raw edges to them and given them her sorrows and her joys. Why could Nesta not just leave it be? Why could she have not just tucked the mask away to be forgotten? To gather dust and nonchalance? 

"If you do not like the mask," Tanaruz sighs, "I will take it back and it will be forgotten." 

"No, no it's... It's alright." Nesta's eyes burn. 

Tanaruz wonders for a moment if her anger is directed at Tanaruz or a product of something else that is bothering her. Without thought Tanaruz reaches out to wrap her fingers around Nesta's, to offer love and trust and acceptance. To offer comfort. Nesta offers a tight lipped smile and removes her fingers before making her way to the foyer, the lion mask dangling limply in her fingers. 

 

* * *

It ends up being more about the fact that Tanaruz didn't say it was from her when she'd left the mask on Nesta's pillow than the fact that Tanaruz made Nesta the mask at all. 

Which Tanaruz learns later that evening after everyone has left and Elain stumbles into her room smelling of spiced wine. 

"She thought it was from, papa." Elain whispers, curling against Tanaruz's side, rubbing her cheek against the older girl's naked shoulder. 

Tanaruz finds herself carefully extracting herself from the younger girl's grip so she can put on some clothing. It'll lead to less awkwardness of Elain's part tomorrow as well as make Tanaruz feel a bit better about having the drunk mortal in her bed. 

"I see." 

"Hm, yes, Nesta hates papa. I don't understand why." Elain grumbles, voice heavy with sleep. 

But Tanaruz does. 

Tanaruz understands far better than she probably should. 

She soothes the other girl to sleep though, instead of telling her that in the years they'd spend in poverty their father had done nothing. Their father had allowed his youngest daughter to risk life and limb in the wild so that they didn't die of starvation. 

Nesta has every right to hate her father. 

But Elain does not, because Elain is gentle and kind. 

And the auburn haired goddess does not wish to cause her any pain. So she soothes her to sleep and rolls her onto her side so that she doesn't choke to death should she end up retching and carefully curls herself around the younger girl. 

She'll apologize to Nesta tomorrow. 

 

* * *

 

_"Do you miss us sister?" Areus whispers, smoothing back Tanaruz's hair._

_"You know I do." Tanaruz replies, eyes burning._

_"I do," Areus' face turns very, very sad. "Listen to me Tanaruz, listen well."_

_Areus' face is nothing but mist and shadow, like the image shown on a steam covered mirror. Hazy. Unfamiliar. But it is Areus, Tanaruz can smell it, feel it. If she were to reach out it would be her brother's hand that would take her own._

_But his tone is demanding, urgent. He is afraid._

_It drives whatever joy Tanaruz had been feeling from her mind._

_"What is it?"_

_"Something is coming Tanaruz, something very strong." Areus' fingers reach out to stroke her cheek. "A great darkness that threatens to swallow the dawn."_

_"What do I do?"_

_"You know what you must do."_

_"But I am mortal here, brother."_

_It's too late._

_Her brother is gone and her words are swallowed by that misty darkness that has begun to twist around her ankles, her knees._

_Tanaruz screams._

 

* * *

The dream haunts her throughout the rest of the week. 

And the week following that. 

And the week following that. 

It haunts her even after she's mended whatever rift formed between her and Nesta when she'd gifted the younger girl the mask. It haunts her as the snow begins to melt and the ice begins to drip, drip, drip off of emerald shingles. Haunts her as Elain and the rest of the house prepares for a wedding that Tanaruz hates the idea of. 

Haunts her because Tanaruz often dreams of home. She dreams of snow capped mountain and tribes and her family, dreams of the laughter she's given and the lives she's taken and the wars she's fought. But... But those are memories. Tanaruz knows what to expect from them. The dream with Areus, however, was not something Tanaruz was expecting nor used to. 

Because that was Areus. 

Weak, yes. Broken, very close to being so. But it was Areus. 

Sweet Areus who gave her stars and constellations, Areus who taught her how to navigate, Areus who helped teach her the things a Goddess must know. 

Areus, who instead of telling Tanaruz what happened or how to return warned her of a coming darkness. 

So yes, it haunts her. 

And now that she knows there's something very, very wrong Tanaruz can actually feel it if she concentrates hard enough. It's in the air, it's in the mud, it's in the water she drinks when she takes one of the quieter mares for a ride when the snow and ice has melted enough to allow it. She feels it and it scares her. For how is she, a mortal, supposed to protect her friends from whatever is coming? 

The answer. 

She cannot. 

Because it's likely got to do with the fae beyond the Wall and how is she ever going to compare to them when they have magic and the only thing she has is muscle memory and sheer force of will. 

Tanaruz sighs, the book in her hands falling onto her desk with a soft thump. 

She needs sleep or food. Either. Honestly, she'd prefer sleep... But she's afraid of seeing Areus' face again, afraid that she's going to have the same dreams over and over and over until whatever is coming comes for them. 

 _Fuck_. 

Without thought Tanaruz stands, walks over to the trunk at the foot of her bed, and flips it open to reveal the pelts and hides and weapons she'd come to this land in as well as a few things she's added. The coat sitting on the top is new. A leather number lined with the softest of sheep's wool. It's a good coat. One that will keep her warm against the frigid bite of the wind beating at her window. 

After she's donned her coat Tanaruz reaches for her bow and her knives and the brass knuckles Raul had made for her. 

She needs to clear her head, she needs to get out of this manor and away from the parties and the jewels and the silks because she's beginning to forget what it's like to sleep in trees and drink from rivers and see through the eyes of the wild things in her forests. And while it won't be the same, Tanaruz thinks that taking a few days to settle herself out will help her think things over a bit more. 

So she grabs her things and heads out to find Nesta and Elain. 

 

* * *

 

"You'll be back right?" Elain demands. 

"I'll only be gone a few days, Elain, then I will be back." 

Beside the flower grower Nesta scowls. 

"Make sure not to die out there," She barks, turning to make her way back into the estate, "I might actually end up missing you." 

"Don't listen to her. She's nervous is all. But you will be careful yes? You've plenty of food? Water? Oh... Maybe you should stop by Graysen's... I'm sure he would lend you so-" 

"Elain, calm. I will be back before you miss me." Tanaruz promises. 

And Elain bites her lip before nodding. 

Tanaruz smiles as she leans over to press a chaste kiss to Elain's forehead. Then she's turning on her heel and making her way out the back door at a brisk enough pace that it might get her to the forest before night falls. She thinks the forest will work... It's the same forest Tanaruz woke up in, close to the wall and barren this time of year, a good place to clear her head. A good place to think things through. 

Without so much as a second glance at the estate Tanaruz hefts her bag further up on her shoulder and disappears into the misting drizzle that has begun to fall from the sky. 

 

* * *

 

She spends a week in that forest. 

Living off of whatever she can hunt and the provisions she brought with her. 

Sometimes Tanaruz lingers near the wall, safely hidden in trees so as to escape detection from the beady eyed creatures that prod and test the boundaries laid before them by ex-slaves and high fae. 

Tanaruz has killed three of these beady eyed monsters already. Her arrows ripping into eyes and throats causing black blood to spill forth. Black blood. Not even the monsters Tanaruz has fought before she became mortal had black blood. 

These creatures make her oh so very nervous. 

Especially as winter is ending and grass is beginning to sprout up from the ground. 

She needs to return to the Estate. 

She needs to return and inform the Archerons of what she has seen today. If not the Archerons as a whole then she needs to get Nesta and Elain out of the estate and as far from the wall as possible. 

* * *

 

"You... Reek." Nesta remarks when Tanaruz slips through the front door. 

"Is your father home?" 

"No, he left for Neva just yesterday, something urgent came up... Something about a threat beyond the wall?" Nesta sounds angry. 

"Well fuck." Tanaruz grinds out before making her way toward her chambers. 

She'll take a bath, clean herself up, take care of her weapons, and then she'll figure out what to do about the situation beyond the wall. 

Behind her Nesta is following, the heavy clap of her shoes against the polished floor almost too much for Tanaruz. 

"Tanaruz, what the hell is going on?" 

"Nothing... I just needed to talk to your father about some things regarding my _situation_." 

"You want to tell him?" Nesta growls. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" 

"No, of course not, I was going to politely ask him to bring back a book of old legends _as I find them interesting_." The last few words are laced with warning. 

_Keep your fucking voice down._

Nesta purses her lips. 

"Very well, I apologize. Go clean yourself up." 

"Thank you, Nesta." 

And Tanaruz places a chaste kiss upon the younger woman's cheek before disappearing into her room. 

 

* * *

 

 

She spends a good hour in the bath before deciding she feels clean enough to remove herself from the not-quite-grey tinted water. She'll need another bath tonight before she goes to bed but at least she's somewhat clean not and her muscles don't hurt as badly as they had. 

Gods damn, she misses her divinity. 

If she ever gets it back Tanaruz is never going to take the little things for granted again. 

Which reminds her, she really needs to ask Mrs. Laurent where she keeps the medical salves. It's be nice to ease the aches of the bruises acquired while fighting the creatures from beyond the wall. Funnily enough, Tanaruz hadn't caught sight of the aging house keeper before she'd snuck off to her room. Not that it's an issue. Servants are used to seeing Tanaruz's battered form in Mrs. Laurent's presence. 

So she pulls a sleep shirt over her head and pulls on a pair of leggings before making her way downstairs. 

She can hear voices in the sitting room. 

Nesta and someone else who sounds vaguely familiar. 

Probably Mrs. Laurent. 

Without thinking Tanaruz makes her way to the sitting room. 

"Nesta, do you know where Mrs. Laurent is? I've got some bruising that I'd... _Oh_." 

Because there, sitting on one of the plush chairs that Tanaruz absolutely adores is Feyre. 

She's healthier, happier, but this is not what catches the goddess's attention. Oh no. Instead it is the delicate point of her ears and the elegantly elongated limbs and the essence of power that she carries. 

Nowhere near that of a God but far more powerful than any fae Tanaruz has encountered thus far. 

But Feyre's smile is still the same. Kind and gentle and a bit sad. 

"Hello Tanaruz... Good to see you again." 

It takes all of two seconds for Tanaruz to make it across the room and pull the younger girl into a tight embrace, fingers curving gently around the back of her neck and her slender shoulder. 


	8. Chapter 8

Feyre tells them her story. Every gory, bloody, horrible detail and Tanaruz finds herself hating. Hating the fact that she's trapped in a mortal shell, unable to bless the sister she's made of Feyre, hating that the sweet-eyed dreamer had to endure such horribleness at the hand of an auburn haired bitch and the ass that is the Lord of the Spring Court. 

And the more Feyre talks the angrier Tanaruz gets. 

Because there is a _war_ coming. A war that will in all likelihood destroy the somewhat peaceful life Tanaruz has found herself growing accustomed to. It might not be a life Tanaruz wants but it is the life that has given her Feyre and Nesta and Elain. It is the life that has given her protection and security when she had none. 

So when Feyre tells them what she needs the Archeron Estate to be, what she needs the estate to accomplish, Tanaruz begins thinking of every way it can go wrong and every way it can go right. What will be needed, what they will need to ensure Nesta and Elain's safety. Because Tanaruz has no intention of rolling belly up, not now, not when Feyre needs her so desperately. 

"You- you want other High Fae to come... Here. And... And the Queens of the Realm." Elain utters at last, eyes wide, the iron band on her ring finger gleaming. 

Feyre nods. 

"Find somewhere else," Nesta says, straight backed, "I don't want them in my house. Or near Elain." 

"Nesta please," Feyre is begging now, "There is nowhere else; nowhere else I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me-"

"And what of us? When the people around here learn we're Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have- gone. And Elain's wedding-"

"Wedding?" 

"In five months," Nesta explains, "she's marrying a lord's son. And his father had devoted his life to hunting down _your_ _kind_ when they cross the wall... So there will be no meeting here. There will be no Fae in this house." 

And Tanaruz thinks herself a merciful person, an understanding person, but she cannot understand this. Because Feyre has risked her life coming here to warn her sisters of a threat that will likely set the mortals back centuries if it crosses the wall. How can she not see that? How can she think something like a wedding and standing is more important than the lives of children. 

Has she forgotten what the Fae of old did to humans before the war that freed them? 

Has she no sense of obligation? Of dignity? 

Of honor?

"Do you include me in that declaration?" Feyre asks, and there is something so broken in her tone that Tanaruz cannot bite her tongue. 

Not now. 

But it is Elain who speaks, soft and hesitant and sweet, "Nesta, if... If we do not hep Feyre, there won't be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan's battlements and all his men couldn't same me from... From them." . 

And... And she cannot do it. She cannot lash out at Elain and Nesta because it is not their fault. It is how they have been raised. Tanaruz thinks that if she hadn't been mortal when Feyre found her, if she hadn't been mortal and relatively harmless since then, the Archeron sisters would not have reacted well to the truth of what she is. She is not a fool. If they'd known what she was, what she truly is, then Tanaruz would not have been welcomed into their home. 

She would have been hunted, chased, attacked. 

The mortals of this realm would have tried their very best to kill her and if Tanaruz had her divinity then... Then she would have been no better than the monsters beyond the wall. Because she would have burned their villages to the ground, she would have slaughtered those who dared to harm her, and she would have cursed the ones who stood bu and let it happen. 

 _It is not their fault,_ she reminds herself as she runs a hand over her face, _it_   _is the only way they know_. 

"We'll send the servants away tomorrow." She hears Nesta say. 

"Today," Feyre pushes, "we don't have any time to lose. Order them to leave now." 

"I'll do it." Elain says, squaring her shoulders and disappearing before anyone can say anything. 

For a long moment their is a tenseness to the air. 

A brief moment passes before Tanaruz realizes it is not coming from either Archeron sister, but rather, from somewhere behind Feyre. 

Tanaruz eyes the wall behind her friend, there is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest someone is there. But Tanaruz is old and she might not have her divinity butt that doesn't take away from the fact that she's had years to hone her instincts in ways other humans can't. 

She knows there is someone else in the room with them. 

But when she turns to make a comment about it to Feyre she finds the two Archeron sisters sharing soft conversation and Tanaruz thinks that there are things to be said between the two of them that are far more important then any questions she might have. 

So she leaves. 

It's not like she won't be able to talk to Feyre later anyway. 

 

* * *

 

It takes Elain hours to convince the staff that they were not needed, that they deserved a break for all of their hard work, that the three ladies and their guest would be perfectly fine while the staff was gone. 

It takes her even longer to convince Mrs. Laurent. 

But let it not be said that Elain Archeron is not her own force of nature. She's soft and sweet and there's an air to her that sucks people in. Elain does eventually manage to work her charm on the staff and get them to pack their things and leave with a purse of money to hasten the process. 

Tanaruz watches beside Feyre, pinky curled around that of the young girl, as the staff crams themselves into carriages and settle themselves on the backs of horses. She manages to wave to Raul and the other guards, who she had to speak to privately to ensure that none of them came back to make sure everything was alright. There's a certain amount of guilt that bubbles up when she lies to them, because they trust her and they are her friends and Tanaruz is not a liar. 

What reason does a god have to lie? 

But she rolls her eyes and flips Raul off when he call across the lawn that he will return to his _fiery lass_. 

An ongoing joke between the guards of the Archeron estate and the fallen goddess. One that has, until now, remained strictly between them. Tanaruz has no doubt in her mind that tonight Elain and Nesta will bombard her with questions in regard to what Raul said... If they aren't too concerned with other things. 

Tanaruz isn't as concerned. 

This will not be her first war. 

And she watches with a sense of relief as the last of the servants, including Mrs. Laurent who has promised to remain quiet about what she has seen, clamber into the last of the carriages which pulls away the moment the aged woman has managed to shut the door behind her. 

Tanaruz doesn't linger long after that. 

Instead she turns and makes her way over to Feyre. 

"Look, I don't know what I can do to help but... You have my support Feyre, however you need it, you have it." 

"Even when I am like this?" The girl motions to the fine point of an ear. 

Tanaruz isn't sure if it is a test or not but it makes her incredibly sad, and incredibly angry, but she doesn't let that show. Instead she reaches out to brush Feyre's hair behind that lovely pointed ear of hers and smiles. 

"As if I could turn you away if I wanted to." Tanaruz drops her hand to squeeze Feyre's elbow. "You are my dearest friend, Feyre, no matter what body you have, no matter what form you take, I will treat you as I have always treated you." 

"Thank you, Tanaruz." 

A sharp knock on the door has Tanaruz stepping back before she can tell Feyre just how far she's willing to go to make sure the young mortal gets everything she deserves out of this new life she has been given. A life that, while Tanaruz had hesitated at accepting for a moment, has not truly hurt Feyre. Which is what had worried Tanaruz after she'd had time to process the new found power found in her friend. 

There is a reason Tanaruz's people do not give the gift of the devine to mortals. 

Without having to be asked Tanaruz leaves Feyre in the foyer and makes her way to the dinning room where Nesta and Elain are waiting for them. She needs a moment to settle her thoughts anyway. Because Feyre's arrival and the threat of war and the sliver of possibility that Tanaruz might be able to regain her divinity is making the woman's head hurt. 

 

* * *

 

Tanaruz's attention is snagged immediately by the fae males following behind Feyre. 

They're all incredibly dangerous, Tanaruz doesn't need any devine power to sense that, but she shakes off her initial reaction to bare her teeth at them. Instead to leans back in her seat and allows her eyes to roam over each of them. 

The first one, the one closest to Feyre, is a purple eyed male with the same delicately pointed ears as Fayre. The way he walks suggests that he's spent years commanding others which means he's likely a Lord. A High Lord if he's personally come so far to talk to three mortal females. 

Grey eyes drift over to the male to Feyre's left. Handsome, devastatingly so, but in a different way than the High Lord. There is a certain danger to him, in the shoulder length hair and the wide hazel eyes. It has nothing to with the weapons strapped to his body nor the great wings nor the red siphon jewels though... That certainly makes Tanaruz pause. 

Aren't Illyrian warriors only supposed to have two at the most? 

She pushes the thought away in favor of taking in the last male. 

Who is, without any sort of doubt, the most beautiful of the three. He's tall and broad, his hair just as dark as the leather he wears, his eyes are more gold then hazel and the color clashes prettily with the vibrant blue of the siphon jewels he wears. And for a moment Tanaruz is too distracted admiring his wings, the gentle curve of sinew and the strength of his muscles to notice the terrible scarring on his hands. 

But she does notice. 

And she admires them. 

Because something happened to him, something awful, and it shaped him. It had to have shaped him. How could it not? But there is nothing _cruel_ to him. Nothing that makes Tanaruz want to lunge across the table and claw the male's eyes out before he can make it more than a few steps. And that, that is why he is beautiful. This male, this powerful damaged male, lacks the cruelty that so many others would have and in its place is compassion and wariness and a devotion that Tanaruz finds herself admiring. 

"My sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron." Feyre introduces the three males to the women by the window before turning to face her. "And Tanaruz, she is a friend." 

Tanaruz winks at the three males. 

"Cassian." Feyre turns to motion to the Illyrian with the red siphones before motioning to the one with the blue. "Azriel," she half turns to motion to the last male. "And Rhysand, Lord of the Night Court." 

The High Lord bows to them. 

"Thank you for your hospitality- and generosity." He smiles as he speaks but there's something strained there. 

"The cook left dinner on the table, best eat before it gets cold." Nesta's tone is clipped and then she's marching to the seat at the head of the table. 

"Nice to meet you." Elain trembles like an autum leaf as she takes the seat to Nesta's left. 

Tanaruz watches, eyebrow raised, before turning to face Feyre and her friends. She offers a kind smile, with perhaps more teeth then is needed. 

"We didn't poison the food... Believe it or not we're a bit more civilized than all that, if you can believe it." She finds herself saying, eyes locking with the haunted purple eyes of the High Lord. 

Something passes between them. And when the High Lord, Rhysand, glances at Feyre it hits Tanaruz like a punch. He'd been the presence Tanaruz had felt earlier, that invisible entity that hadn't quite been able to hide from years and years of hones instinct. This male, who loves Feyre just as much as Tanaruz but in a different way, knows that whatever relationship that has been forged between Tanaruz and Feyre will not be broken by pointed ears and immortality. 

Not like the mortal sisters that sit near the head of the table with their backs straight, their chins raised, and their eyes darting between the four fae like terrorized fawns. 

Tanaruz thinks it a bit amusing. 

For these sisters, who have taken her in and talked with her about her life before the little village and the Archerons, are afraid of Illyrian warriors who have come to do nothing less than protect them but they are no where near as afraid of Tanaruz as they should be. Because Tanaruz is a god, born to destroy and ruin and rage just as easily as build and protect and love. 

She allows a gentle smile to settle over her face as the male takes a seat beside Feyre.

The one names Cassian seats himself beside Elain, who clutches her fork as if she could use it to gauge out the male's eyes. Which leaves several seats open, this isn't a small table, but none of them are inclusive to the group. None except the empty chair sitting between Tanaruz and Rhysand. 

Without much though Tanaruz pushes her own seat out, grabs the back of the other one, drags it off, and slips into the kitchen to grab two stools from the counter where the cooks typically prepare the food. Once she's grabbed both stools Tanaruz makes her way back into the dining room where she drops one stool in the now empty space before moving across the table to place the second stool behind the chair to Cassian's right. 

"Didn't know we'd be getting Illyrians... Or, you know, any company at all." Tanaruz says, throwing a pointed look at Feyre. 

At least she has the good decency to blush. 

Beside her Nesta's upper lip curls. 

But Tanaruz ignores it. Because she's Nesta's friend and a decent person and she's supposed to be setting a fucking example. So she returns to her seat, pleased to find Azriel already perched on the stool she's pulled from the kitchen, and takes her seat. 

Then she begins grabbing food not even bothering to see if the others are doing the same because she's hungry. It's been a while since she's actually have a decent meal and what she'd taken into the forest with her, as well as the meat she'd managed to catch, hadn't been filling enough. So she puts chicken on her plate and puts some on the High Lord's when he offers his plate and it's familiar... To a degree. 

And then things get a bit messy. 

Because the three males are digging into their food, perhaps a bit faster than what's considered polite but Tanaruz isn't going to judge, but Feyre isn't. She picks at the food and Tanaruz isn't the only one to notice. 

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta asks, tone flat. 

"No." Feyre takes another bite, swallows, and then takes a healthy drink of water. 

"So you can't eat normal food anymore- or are you too good for it?" Nesta bites out. 

Which isn't alright. She doesn't have the right to use that tone. Not on Feyre. Never Feyre. And the distant clatter of a fork hitting a plate alerts Tanaruz to the fact that the High Lord shares her thoughts. 

"Mortal food is aweful, Nesta," Tanaruz finds herself saying, her tone distant. "It's bland, takes like dirt." 

Tastes like mortality. 

 _Tastes like death._  

She ignores the looks she gets as she tosses an plum down the table to Feyre. 

 

* * *

 

There is something strange about the mortal sitting to Azriel's right. She looks just like any other mortal he's ever seen. Rounded ears, soft eyes, the proof of her mortality lingering in the scent around her. But that's just it isn't it? Because this fiery haired mortal sitting beside him doesn't smell mortal. Not entirely, anyway. 

Azriel glances at her from the corner of his eyes. 

She's rather beautiful. Perhaps not as beautiful as the Archeron sisters but beautiful none the less. It's in the way her hair catches the light of the last beams of sunlight fluttering through the large windows, it's in the slope of her jaw, the curve of her neck. Something sensuous and dangerous. But he's seen plenty of beautiful mortals, he's fucked plenty of beautiful mortals. 

This is different. 

She is different. 

But hadn't Feyre said that? Hadn't she mentioned that the girl living in her home, the who had helped her hunt and haggle and keep her family alive, was not like her sisters or the other mortals int he village? 

And while he is distracted by the way the shadows around her sift and move like some sort of wild beast Azriel almost misses the eldest Archeron sister's cutting words. But he's not quite distracted enough by the woman beside him to let that happen. 

The girl, Nesta, has turned to look at Cassian and she hisses like a cornered snake, "What are you looking at?" 

Cassian's eyebrow rises but there is no amusement there, only a bitter rage that Azriel understands completely, "Someone who let her younger sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child fo out into that forest, so close to the Wall... Your sister died- _died_ to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don't expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make- and _insult_ my people in the process." 

Either the girl is incredibly brave or she is incredibly foolish for she neither lowers her eyes nor apologizes. Merely looks Cassian over before dismissing him entirely. Azriel would think it amusing if he weren't so incredibly angry at the little mortal woman. 

"It..." The middle archeron begins, voice wavering. "It is very hard, you understand, to... Accept it." 

"Why?" 

Every eye. 

Every single one of them snap their attention away from the quivering mortal woman with the ring made of dark iron and focus it entirely on the auburn haired girl sitting to Azriel's left. 

Her eyes burn, the color changing from the warm grey of a bird's feather to the sharp almost charcoal of a stormy sky. Her fingers uncoil from around the handle of the knife she'd been holding. Azriel notices the slight tremble there, it's almost undetectable, it _would_ be undetectable to anyone else. 

But Azriel is not just anyone. 

He's an Illyrian warrior, a shadowsinger, Rhysand's spy master. 

And he knows what rage looks like. 

"We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Claire Beddor, was taken from her family and murdered..." Elain says, her voice pleading. 

But the woman beside him is unmoved. 

If anything she's even angrier then she had been before. 

"Excuse me." She pushes away from the table, offering the rest of them a tight smile.

And that's when Azriel sees it. 

He hadn't been paying the girl much attention when she'd spoken to them earlier nor when she'd gotten up to get stools from the kitchen. But he's paying attention now and it's clear to see that whatever this woman is she certainly isn't human. 

Azriel reaches out with a single tendril of shadow, it bushes the girl's bare toe, and feels foreign magic creep against his shadow. It's horrible. Like a parasite slowly killing it's host. For a moment Azriel wants to rip away from it before that foreign magic can latch onto his own magic and do to him whatever it has done to this girl. But he doesn't. Instead he curls that tendril of shadow around her ankle, allows it to cling to smooth skin as she storms out of the room. 

Allows it to slip beneath the foreign magic- a task that brings sweat to the back of his neck- and settle. 

Suddenly, so suddenly that it almost makes him gasp, there is light and warmth and the taste of something wild on his tongue. But it's gone just as quickly as it comes, the little tendril of Azriel's power brushing against that foreign warmth ripped apart and destroyed by the same warmth it had only seconds ago been curled against. 

The fingers on his left hand twitch and Azriel glances at them briefly before curling them into a loose fist. 

"Sorry about that," Feyre is saying, "I'll talk to her... Later." 

But as the sharp slap of the woman's feet on the floor fade Azriel finds himself wanting to chase after her. Out of curiosity or something else the Illyrian can't quite tell, but he doesn't act on it. Instead he remains seated and answers the doe eyed Archeron's question when she asks if he can fly. He pointedly ignores the strange emptiness in the air to his left. 

 

* * *

 

 _Hard to accept_ , Tanaruz hands are shaking as she shuts the door to her chambers, _hard to accept_. 

She shouldn't be this angry. It isn't like Elain was lying when she'd said that the reason everything was _hard to accept_ was because they'd been born that way. Feyre had been that way before she'd gone beyond the Wall, scared and angry and hateful. 

Tanaruz has been afraid of the girl at one point. 

So why is she so upset now? 

Before, when she'd been living on her mountain, whenever she'd been angry she would find Areus and they'd fight. Blades and fists, they'd be a mess of blood and exposed bone by the end of it but their mother would heal them and Tanaruz would feel better. Not great but better. But there is no one here to fight with her. Raul is gone, the rest of the guards too, and she can't exactly ask any of the males downstairs either. 

She's hurt them or they'd hurt her. 

This body isn't strong enough to take an Illyrian warrior. 

With something akin to a growl Tanaruz stomps over to where her boots are sitting by the foot of the bed and pulls them on before grabbing a coat out of her wardrobe. Then she's marching over to the window, flinging it open, and using the sill and the gutter to pull herself up onto the roof. 

She does this sometimes. 

Just sits and watches the stars and tries to find Areus in the constellations. 

She never does but... It helps. 

Time passes, the moon rises higher into the sky and Tanaruz watches it until her eyelids grow heavy enough that the creeping exhaustion forces her to remove herself from the roof and slip back into her bedroom. 

Feyre is waiting on the bed, the book stolen from the temple open on her lap. 

"Shouldn't you be with your fae males?" Tanaruz asks, already stripping out of her boots and pants. 

"Azriel and Cassian are getting settled and Rhysand is in the room across the hall fretting like an old woman." Feyre says. 

"So you're free for a night of drunken revelry then."

"Yes, exactly." 

Without much thought Tanaruz flips open the chest at the foot of her bed and grabs the wolf mask she's spent almost every free moment of her time making. She passes it to Feyre, whose eyes widen as she realizes just what she's holding. 

"I couldn't give it to you during Yule... Sorry." 

"No it's... It's beautiful." Feyre breathes as she drags the pad of her finger over the wolf's muzzle. 

Tanaruz nods, shuts the chest, and crawls onto the bed to sit across from Feyre. 

She looks happier then she did the last time she came to visit. A bit haunted perhaps, but happy and beautiful none the less. Without thought Tanaruz reaches out to brush honey colored hair behind a pointed ear. 

"I'm not sorry this happened to you." She finds herself saying, carefully tracing the delicate point. 

"What?" 

"This, you being fae, I'm not sorry it happened. Nor am I angry. I regret _how_ it happened, no one should suffer that, but I am happy you're alive." 

"Thank you Tanaruz." 

"Mhm." 

A long moment passes between the two and Tanaruz drops her hand before offering Feyre a coil smile. 

"So... You've brought me two Illyrian warriors I see." 

"You wouldn't." 

"Oh but I would." 

"Tanaruz, no, you'd kill them." 

And isn't that a terribly erotic thought? 

The goddess shivers, her mind conjuring up images of Illyrian males and their tongues and their wings and _oh_. She should probably stop. It's rude. She doesn't even know if either of them are interested in women... But she thinks they are because she'd caught Cassian eyeing her earlier. And she's never been shy about sex. 

"You know," Tanaruz says after a long moment. "I once had a man ask if I could crush a man's head with my thighs. I told him he was more than willing to see." 

"... And what happened?" 

Tanaruz smirks, eyebrows raising suggestively. 

He'd been a very good lover. 

Across from her Feyre groans. And if the anger that had been roiling beneath Tanaruz's skin eases a bit she'll never tell. But it does. Of course it does. How could it not when Feyre is smiling at her and carefully lifting the mask to her face. 

"May I ask you something?" Tanaruz asks. 

"Of course." 

Tanaruz licks her lips, chapped and gnawed as they are. "Could your High Lord..." She makes a motion to herself. 

To the skin that ages ever second, to the hair that lacks the lustrous shine she'd been complimented on so many times before, to the dark shadows under her eyes- an ugly purple so unlike the yellow-brown-almost-bronze of the ichor hued bruises she'd receive from Areus. 

"I don't know Tanaruz... I..." 

Feyre's fingers coil around her wrist and it forces Tanaruz to look up into sympathetic eyes of the friend, the sister, she has made in this land. They are soft eyes. Untainted and sweet. 

"It's alright, Feyre, I know." Tanaruz swallows the lump forming in her throat. "I know." 


End file.
